1 As the business owner, I had just announced a $1,000 monthly raise for our entire staff at the morning meeting. Before the cheers of my employees could even fade, a post on social media from the landlord of the surrounding rental properties shattered the mood: Effective this month, rent is going up by $1,200. New flat rate: $2,200 a month. I immediately dialed the landlord, Tabitha. “Tabitha, what is this? When you practically begged me to set up my office here, we shook hands on a fixed rate of $1,000 a month for my staff, with a promise of no hikes.” “We give them a raise, and you instantly raise the rent? Your hike is $200 more than the raise I just gave them. What is the meaning of this?” Tabitha sneered through the phone. “Marcus, honey, times change. This district is booming now. Your company isn’t the only game in town anymore. If your people don’t want to pay, there is a line of eager tenants waiting. Too expensive? Pack up and leave.” I looked out the window at the bustling business park. Dozens of supplier and partner companies had set up shop here just to be close to us. I hung up the phone and typed a message directly into our corporate announcement channel: “Pack your bags. Next Monday, the entire company is moving to our new headquarters.” Let’s see if your precious properties are still in high demand when my company is gone. Right after I hung up, Tabitha posted an update on her feed. I was trying to be nice to my loyal tenants by not raising it too much. But since some people don’t know how to be grateful, rent is going up another $300. Flat rate of $2,500 a month starting now. Suppressing my anger, I opened the main company group chat. It was already in chaos. “Marcus, is this raise for us or for the landlord?” “How does she expect us to live? We get a $1,000 raise, and she instantly demands an extra $1,500!” “At this rate, we’re just working for her. We won’t even have money left for groceries.” Another text popped up from an employee. “She’s not even waiting until next month. She’s demanding we pay the $1,500 difference right now. I asked her for a two-day extension, and she cut off my electricity.” My heart sank. The next morning, I pushed open the office doors. The lobby lights were off, and the scent of instant ramen hung heavy in the air. I frowned, walking deeper into the workspace. A few figures were curled up under their desks, surrounded by a messy pile of suitcases. I had always banned pointless overtime. Why were people sleeping in the office? “What is going on here?” I knocked on a glass partition. Daisy, who was sleeping closest to the door, bolted upright in panic. “Marcus! I’m sorry, we’ll pack up right away.” I looked at her bloodshot eyes and the exhausted faces of the other employees waking up around her. “Why are you sleeping here, Daisy?” She looked down, her eyes welling with tears. “We haven’t received this month’s paycheck yet, so none of us had the $1,500 to pay the rent difference. Tabitha came by with a couple of guys in the middle of the night and threw us out.” Another young woman wiped her tears. “The moment we got off work yesterday, all our things were dumped in the hallway. They even threw our blankets on the floor and stomped all over them.” “What about your security deposits?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady. “She kept them,” Daisy spat, clenching her fists. “She said we breached the lease by leaving early, so she’s keeping the deposits as a penalty.” I let out a cold laugh. Breached the lease? She was the one price-gouging, yet somehow my employees were the ones at fault. Looking at the clutter on the floor, a heavy stone settled in my chest. I had chosen this location specifically because the rent was affordable, wanting to ease the financial burden on the team who worked so hard for me. Who could have known Tabitha, once so pleasant and cooperative, could turn this greedy? “Go wash up and get yourselves sorted,” I said, pointing toward the restrooms. “Marcus… are we causing trouble for the company?” Daisy asked, anxiously tugging at her shirt. “No,” I said, looking them in the eye. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, the company has your back.” I patted Daisy’s shoulder. “Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes. We’re going to get some answers.” “Tabitha, kicking people out and keeping their deposits? Don’t you think you’ve gone too far?” I marched into the property management office, several employees behind me. Tabitha was lounging on a leather sofa. “Well, well. Marcus is here to start a riot bright and early? I’m just following the contract. They couldn’t pay, so I took my property back.” I slammed a stack of printed lease agreements onto her desk. “It says right here, in black and white, a fixed rent. What right do you have to unilaterally raise it?” Tabitha sneered, sitting up. “Are you blind, Marcus? Didn’t you see the fine print? ‘The landlord reserves the right of final interpretation.’ Besides, this is the market rate now.” She stood up and walked over to Daisy. “If you’re broke, don’t rent. Go sleep on the streets. It’s free.” Daisy shook with anger, her fists trembling. I pulled her behind me and stared coldly at Tabitha. Her smirk vanished, replaced by a vicious glare. She leaned in close. “If you want the apartments back, fine. Get down on your knees, give me three good apologies, and beg. If I’m in a good mood, maybe I’ll give your losers a ten percent discount.” I laughed from sheer anger. I grabbed Daisy’s arm and turned around. “Not a chance. There are plenty of places to live. I don’t believe we can’t find a single decent landlord in this city. Daisy, get everyone. The company will cover a hotel for a week while we look for a permanent solution.” Just as I turned to walk out, my foot caught on something. One of the security guards standing next to Tabitha had slipped his leg out. Caught off guard, I tripped and fell forward, my knees slamming heavily onto the hard tile floor. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my legs. “Marcus!” Daisy gasped, rushing to help me up. Tabitha looked down at me, laughing mockingly. “Oh, Marcus, you didn’t have to get on your knees so fast! But I’m afraid you’re too late anyway.” Her voice dripped with spite. “Those apartments? Rented them out this morning to employees from the other tech firms in the park. Three thousand a month. People are practically begging for them.” I forced myself up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my knees, and glared at her. “Three thousand? Do you think everyone is an idiot?” Just then, a few people walked out of the back office. The woman leading them gave us a disdainful look. “So what if we rented them? If you can’t afford it, step aside. Plenty of people can. Tabitha’s places are right next to our office. Our team jumped at the chance.” Daisy’s eyes widened. “Marcus, that’s her cousin!” I immediately saw through Tabitha’s little game. She had hired her own family to play the role of eager tenants, creating a false illusion of high demand to scare the remaining renters into signing expensive renewals. Tabitha wasn’t even embarrassed to be caught. She just smirked and waved her hand. “Get these bums out of here. They’re ruining the view.” The security guards shoved us out the door. Daisy was crying tears of frustration, wanting to go back and fight. I held her back, dusting off my pants. “Don’t bother. You can’t reason with people like that.” By the time we got back to the office, my knee had swollen into a dark, angry purple bruise. No sooner had I sat down than my desk phone began ringing off the hook. Several department managers called, their voices tight with panic. “Marcus, Tabitha has lost her mind. She just posted notices in all the buildings. She’s demanding every tenant sign a one-year lease today. And she wants a six-month deposit upfront.” “And if they don’t sign?” I asked coldly. “She said anyone who doesn’t sign by next Monday will be evicted immediately.” The manager sounded utterly defeated. “Marcus, the team is panicking. They’re asking if we’re really moving next Monday. If we are, they say they’ll grit their teeth and get through this week.” Without hesitation, I opened the all-hands chat. My fingers flew across the keyboard. “To all staff: ignore the landlord’s demands. Under no circumstances should you sign a new lease.” “Just hang in there for a week. The company will fully reimburse all hotel and temporary accommodation costs for this week.” Just as the message sent, my office door burst open. Simon, my assistant, ran in, pale and holding a tablet. “Marcus, we have a problem!” “Yesterday, when you went to confront Tabitha, she secretly recorded it. She edited the footage and posted it online. It’s already trending locally!” I took the tablet and played the video, which already had over a million views. The video showed absolutely none of Tabitha’s arrogance. It only showed me storming into her office with a crowd of employees, and then me falling to the floor, followed by Daisy looking like she was about to attack the guards. A voiceover of Tabitha, sniffling and crying, played over the footage. “These corporate bullies think they can run this town. I’m just a simple, honest landlord who tried to adjust the rent slightly to match the market. This boss, Marcus, brought dozens of thugs to wreck my office and threatened to ruin my life.” In the second half, her cousin made an appearance, tearfully complaining about how our company was blacklisting the apartments and bullying local residents. I scrolled through the comments. They were filled with venomous outrage. Greedy corporate scum deserve to rot! Using his employees to bully a helpless landlord? Boycott this company! Simon looked close to tears. “Marcus, the PR department just called. Because of this viral video, our stock price dropped at the opening bell. Several partners we were supposed to sign contracts with this morning have put things on hold.” Tabitha had twisted the truth. Not only did she want to bleed my employees dry, but she wanted to use our company’s reputation as a stepping stone to play the victim. I tossed the tablet onto the desk and took a deep breath. “Get legal on this immediately. Tell them to gather everything and prepare a defamation lawsuit.” Simon nodded and hurried out. I leaned back, closing my eyes to clear my head. Tabitha’s move was dirty, but it was sloppy. She thought she could ride a wave of internet outrage to destroy me, but she forgot how quickly the internet can turn. Once we moved out, her little empire of cards would collapse. I picked up the intercom and called facilities. “Is the inspection on the new office complete?” “Yes, Marcus,” came the quick reply. “Everything is signed off, the air systems are fully tested, and we’re ready for move-in.” I tapped my desk, my eyes cold. “Good. Contact the moving company privately. This weekend, we pack up all core servers, equipment, and files.” That afternoon, Tabitha walked right into my office. “Well, Marcus, saw the video yet? How does it feel?” She smirked, sliding her phone across my desk. On screen was a screenshot of my message in the main group chat telling everyone not to sign the leases. Clearly, she had a mole in our lower ranks. However, she hadn’t seen the executive-level planning chats about the move. “Marcus, you really thought you could stage a rent strike against me?” Tabitha sneered. “Since you want to play games with your employees’ housing, let’s talk about your corporate lease.” I looked at her coldly. “Tabitha, don’t push your luck. This land lease was signed with the local municipality, not you.” Tabitha laughed. “Oh, Marcus. Did you really forget? When you first arrived here, clueless and eager, who do you think paved the way and handled the government paperwork for you?” “I secured the master agency lease for this entire plot first. Legally speaking, your lease is with me.” My stomach tightened. When I first came here, her apparent community-minded attitude had charmed me into choosing this location over better options in the city. I never realized she had set a trap from day one. Tabitha tapped the desk. “So, here is your official notice. Starting next month, your corporate land lease is going up eighty percent. From one hundred thousand a month to one hundred and eighty thousand.” “And on Monday, you will pay the eighty-thousand difference for this past month.” I stared at her greedy face and let out a cold laugh. “This is extortion.” Tabitha shrugged. “It’s just business. You’re the one clinging to a verbal agreement about fixed rates. If you think it’s too expensive, I have other company owners coming to look at the site on Monday. If you don’t pay, I’ll have them move in.” “I built this office building with my own capital,” I pointed out. Tabitha laughed so hard she practically cried. “So what? You want to tear it down? Go ahead, try! Otherwise, I’ll just let the new tenants use your state-of-the-art building for free. What are you going to do about it?” I looked at her smug face, and a strange calm washed over me. “Fine. Come see me on Monday.” Thinking she had won, Tabitha stood up, victorious. “Smart choice, Marcus. Be reasonable, and we all win.” For the next few days, Tabitha was nowhere to be seen. I saw on social media that she had flown out of town for a luxury vacation. Her caption read: No matter how big the boss is, they still crawl when you squeeze them. Raised the rent, and he didn’t even dare to whisper a complaint. I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to my leadership team chat with a single sentence: “Begin the move.” Over the weekend, the entire company executed a silent, flawless evacuation. By Monday morning, I stood alone at the entrance of the commercial park, waiting for Tabitha. She had just come straight from the airport, dragging her designer suitcase toward me. “Marcus! Out here waiting for me so early? I guess you’ve made up your mind.” She smirked, chin held high. “But I’ve changed my mind. It’s now a hundred percent increase. You owe me an extra hundred thousand today.” I didn’t say a word. I simply stepped aside, clearing her view of the road ahead. Tabitha’s eyes followed my movement. The next second, the smirk froze on her face. She stared at the empty space ahead, her voice trembling. “What… what did you do?”

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1 Just before launch, Brooke gave Austin a glance. Silently, they unbuckled and ran, leaving me frozen in the seat. Austin stood behind the yellow line, smirking. “Brooke says you’re too timid, Tessa. Face your fears. Have fun alone!” The machine roared, hurling me skyward. Wind whipped past as Brooke doubled over laughing, snapping photos of my terror. Austin steadied her phone, his indulgent smile saying it all: Don’t tease her; she’s pitiful. Yes, I was a coward. For twenty years, this was their “help.” Brooke baited stray dogs, leaving me screaming as Austin lifted her to safety. In high school, she yanked the vault mat; I crashed onto concrete, knees torn, while he laughed. During a night hike, she lost me in the dark; he stalked the brush, growling, as I sobbed alone. Every time, her triumph; his empty warning: “Don’t do it again.” His “next time” was always her green light. Sixty feet up, weightlessness clawed my throat. But staring at their tiny figures, I felt no fear. When the ride ended and they reached for me, I pushed them away. “I don’t need either of you to build my courage anymore.” … Austin laughed, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Tess, did you get scared out of your mind? Your courage didn’t grow, but you definitely look a little dazed.” Brooke chimed in with her usual playful banter. “Well, I’m more than willing to take my time and help her grow.” I pressed my lips together, looking at the two of them acting in perfect harmony. “This isn’t helping me. It’s bullying.” Brooke’s smile instantly froze. “Tess, that actually hurts. I spend my free time trying to help you, and you call it bullying?” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine, how about I go ride the rollercoaster, the one thing I’m absolutely terrified of? That way, we’re even.” She turned and began walking toward the coaster. Austin frowned, casting a brief, annoyed glance at me before catching up to Brooke and grabbing her wrist. “Don’t force yourself. You cried on that ride last time. I’ll go with you.” I stood there, watching their retreating backs. Just minutes ago, right before the drop tower launched, Austin had looked at me and said, “You can’t be this childish, Tessa. It’s just a theme park ride, you don’t need someone to hold your hand.” When the coaster finally came to a stop, Brooke was practically vibrating with excitement. “Having someone next to you makes it so much better! See, Tessa? It’s really not that scary at all!” But there was never anyone next to me. Austin looked at my expressionless face. “If you’re still throwing a tantrum, how about we go on the drop tower again? We can all do it together.” But this time, they had chosen the double-rider drop tower, often called the “couples’ line.” It required the riders to sit face-to-face, holding onto each other tightly so the seats wouldn’t tilt during the rapid ascent. The metal archway of the ride bore a cheesy slogan: “Give your deepest trust to the person closest to you.” When the ride operator pointed out that they only had seats for two, Austin looked at me. “Tess was just terrified up there anyway. Let’s not push her. I’ll go with Brooke this time.” They sat down, facing each other with bright, easy smiles. It was so strange. When they wanted entertainment, I wasn’t allowed to be afraid. But now, suddenly, my fear was a convenient excuse to leave me behind. I stared at them as they buckled their safety harnesses. “Austin, the engagement party in five days, let’s call it off.” Austin’s face paled as he registered the cold sincerity in my voice. “Tess, stop making a scene! We’ll talk about this when I get down!” When the ride ended, they practically chased me all the way to the entrance of my apartment building. My mother was sitting on a bench downstairs, chatting with some neighbors. When she saw me, her brow furrowed. “What’s with that face? Didn’t you have fun?” Brooke immediately rushed over, wrapping her arm around my mother’s shoulders with a pout. “Aunt Margaret, we were just trying to help Tessa work on her anxiety, but she accused me of bullying her. Now she’s even telling Austin she wants to call off the engagement.” Austin caught up, trying to smooth things over. “Margaret, it’s fine. If Tessa doesn’t want to go, we won’t force her. But calling off the engagement is a bit extreme.” My mother’s face went completely dark. She marched over, grabbing my ear in a vice grip. “Calling off the wedding just like that? Who do you think you are, throwing a tantrum like this?” With the neighbors watching and whispering, my mother raised her voice, wanting everyone to hear. “This girl has always been a coward. Austin and Brooke are kind enough to help her, and this is how she repays them? She’s completely ungrateful!” “Do you plan on hiding in your room like a useless hermit for the rest of your life?” Hearing the neighbors’ hushed judgments, my face burned as if I had been slapped in public. Austin stepped in, blocking me from my mother’s view. “Margaret, please, it’s fine. Even if Tessa stays like this, I’ll protect her.” His words only fueled my mother’s rage. She dragged me upstairs by my arm, slamming the front door behind us. The moment the door closed, my tears finally spilled over. “Mom, why is it that even though I’m your daughter, you always take everyone else’s side?” My mother let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I gave birth to you, do you think I don’t know what kind of useless child you are?” “Ever since you were little, you’ve been terrified of everything. You’re nothing like Brooke. You can’t get a single thing right, you’re just like your spineless father!” Her words cut deep, carving straight into my bones. But I had wanted to be brave, too. When I was small, money was tight. My mother was proud and ambitious, and she viewed my father’s gentle, quiet nature as cowardice. She screamed at him constantly, blaming his lack of backbone for our poverty. So, she decided to “train” the fear out of me from a young age. When I was three and afraid of the dark, she locked me in the dark utility closet. I cried until my voice went completely hoarse, and when she finally let me out, she beat me. When I was afraid of water, she shoved my face into a basin full of it, and if I struggled, another beating followed. She called it exposure therapy. But it didn’t cure me. It only made me more terrified. Because making a mistake meant punishment, and punishment was proof of my worthlessness. When I was eight, my father chose to divorce my mother, leaving everything behind, even me, just to escape her. From that day on, I didn’t dare to do anything. I was terrified that if I made another mistake, my mother would abandon me too. But Brooke, who grew up alongside me, was graceful, sweet-talking, and effortlessly adored by adults. My mother used to say constantly, “If only Brooke were my daughter.” Eventually, she even took Brooke in as her goddaughter. My mother pointed toward my bedroom. “Get in your room and think about what you’ve done. If you leave Austin, tell me, who else would be charitable enough to take you in?” She then dialed Brooke and Austin, her voice instantly shifting into a warm, gentle tone I had never received. “Brooke, sweetie, I’m going to make Tessa apologize to you both. Come over for dinner tonight, okay?” I leaned against my bedroom door, wiping away my tears. I unlocked my phone and dialed a friend’s number. “Skyler, that volunteer teaching program heading into the mountain communities in five days, do you still have an open slot?” Skyler sounded surprised. “Are you sure, Tess? There’s no signal up there, no internet, and the woods are full of snakes. Aren’t you terrified of all of that?” “I’m not afraid anymore.” “But what about your engagement? How are you going to explain this to your mother? She’ll tear you apart.” I gripped the phone tightly. “Skyler, I need to run away. Just once, I want to be brave for myself.” … Brooke and Austin arrived early, carrying heavy bags of groceries. Austin was the first to approach my door, offering an apology. “Tess, we bought all your favorite foods. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” I didn’t answer. At the dinner table, the dishes spread before Brooke were all of her favorites: sweet glazed pork chops, garlic butter shrimp, and peach cobbler. Brooke gasped happily. “These are all my favorites! Thank you, Austin, for going out of your way to buy them, and thank you, Aunt Margaret, for cooking them exactly how I like!” But placed directly in front of me was a single, white porcelain bowl. I lifted the lid. Inside was a fully intact, stewed bullfrog. I nearly knocked the bowl off the table. In elementary school, some boys had stuffed a live toad into my backpack. When I reached in to grab my notebook, my fingers closed around its cold, slimy skin. My terrified screams became the joke of the school, and they nicknamed me “Frog-girl.” Ever since, frogs and toads had been my worst phobia. But when my mother found out, she started forcing me to eat bullfrog. “You’re only afraid because you haven’t eaten enough of it. Eat more, and you’ll get over it.” Once, she forced a spoonful down my throat, and I threw up so violently I ended up in the emergency room. Austin had snuck into the hospital that night, quietly slipping a roasted chicken leg into my hand. “Tessa, when we grow up, you can come live with me. I promise I will never force you to eat anything you’re afraid of.” “It’s okay to be a little scared.” The absolute sincerity in his eyes back then was the reason I had fallen in love with him. But now, Austin picked up his chopsticks, plucked a piece of the frog meat, and dropped it into my bowl. “It looks a bit intimidating, but it’s actually highly nutritious. Eat up.” I stared at the pale meat in my bowl, then picked it up and placed it into Brooke’s bowl. “If it’s so good, she should have it.” Austin immediately blocked her bowl with his chopsticks. “No, Tess, Brooke thinks frogs are disgusting. Just looking at them gives her goosebumps.” My mother slapped her chopsticks down against my knuckles. “Stop playing with your food. Who are you putting on this miserable face for?” I looked down at the table for a long, silent moment. Then, I picked up the piece of meat and put it in my mouth. My stomach churned, and I felt the urge to gag. But I forced myself to swallow. And in that moment, I realized: it really wasn’t that terrifying after all. They looked at me with smug satisfaction, like scientists admiring a successful experiment. The chatter at the table resumed. Austin carefully picked the bones out of the fish for Brooke, while my mother ladled soup into her bowl. I sat there like an invisible, decorative piece of furniture. Halfway through the meal, Austin suddenly spoke up. “By the way, Tess, about your team’s project presentation tomorrow, why don’t we let Brooke handle the pitch?” “You get so nervous in front of crowds, you might start stuttering.” For once in my life, I saw right through him. He claimed he was worried about my anxiety, but he knew exactly how important this project was. He wanted to hand the career-defining opportunity to Brooke on a silver platter. But I had stayed up for three consecutive nights working on those slides. I didn’t care about the spotlight, but I wanted to try. Just once, I wanted to stand at the front. “I want to do the presentation myself.” The table fell dead silent. Austin’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? There will be a lot of executives there tomorrow. Don’t freeze up on stage.” My mother glared at me with deep disappointment. “You can’t even speak properly in front of your own relatives. What are you going to do up there?” “It’s fine if you want to embarrass yourself, but don’t drag Austin’s reputation down with you.” I looked at them both, my voice quiet but steady. “Haven’t you both always wanted me to be bolder?” Brooke quickly stepped in to play the peacemaker. “I think it’s wonderful that Tessa wants to take this step. I support you, Tess.” That night, I stayed up until two in the morning, practicing my delivery in front of the slides over and over again. But the next morning, when I stood on the stage, I realized several key data slides had been completely wiped clean. I froze, staring at the blank screen. Austin sat in the very front row, watching me with a calm, detached expression. “Having the courage to stand on stage is only the first step,” he spoke up from the crowd, his voice carrying across the room. “But professional capability is about mastering your data and handling unexpected situations.” At the same time, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Brooke. “Austin and I deleted those two slides on purpose! In the real world, clients will throw all kinds of curveballs at you. Once you learn how to think on your feet, you won’t be scared anymore!” Dozens of eyes stared up at me from the audience. My hands began to tremble. There were no slides, no data charts. I closed my eyes and took a deep, steady breath. I began to speak. It was rocky, and I stumbled over my words three times. It wasn’t a flawless performance, but I didn’t run. I finished the pitch. When I concluded, the smug smiles on Austin and Brooke’s faces completely vanished. As I walked off the stage, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Skyler. “We leave for the mountains tomorrow. Have you made up your mind?” “Yes. I already bought my ticket.” At the celebratory dinner that evening, Brooke had a few drinks and began sharing my childhood embarrassments with the table. “You guys have no idea how pathetic Tessa is,” she giggled. “In middle school, someone locked her in the gym equipment room overnight. She just sat there crying until her voice went hoarse, too chicken to even knock on the door.” A colleague laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Tessa, that is seriously pathetic.” Brooke nudged Austin with her elbow. “Austin, tell them, am I lying?” Austin looked at my strained expression, hesitating for a fraction of a second. But when Brooke tugged on his sleeve, he spoke up anyway. “Yeah. When the teacher finally found her, she was so terrified she just hid behind my back and wouldn’t even look up.” The table erupted into laughter. My fingernails dug deep into my palms. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and spoke. “Could you please stop? I don’t like being the butt of your jokes.” The laughter died instantly. A colleague leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Don’t pick a fight with Brooke. She has serious connections here, the boss specifically told everyone to look after her.” She paused, looking at me in confusion. “Wait, if you and Brooke grew up together, you must know the boss too. Why are you…” I froze. I had worked myself to the bone to pass the interviews for this company, all because I wanted to be closer to Austin. But when we ran into each other in the lobby on my first day, he had walked right past me without a single word of acknowledgment. “I don’t want people giving you special treatment just because of me, Tessa,” he had told me later. “You need to learn to stand on your own feet.” I pulled my lips into a tight, humorless smile. “We’re just old classmates. We aren’t close.” Later that evening, someone suggested going to a horror-themed escape room. It was a hospital concept, rated five stars for terror. It was clearly aimed at me. When it came time to split into groups, everyone actively avoided me. One colleague joked half-mockingly, “We don’t want to get dragged down by having you in our group.” Eventually, only Austin, Brooke, and I were left. Austin looked at me with a performative display of reluctance, then took his place next to Brooke. “Tess, this is a great opportunity to build your character. Try going through it on your own.” The groups filed in, one by one. Except for me. Sitting there alone, I felt like I had been thrown back into my childhood. My mother didn’t love me, and the neighborhood kids didn’t want to play with me. Whenever we played games, I was always the one left out. I had wanted to go home back then, but my mother would drag me back to the playground, forcing me to stand there. “You always shrink back like a sewer rat! If you behaved more like Brooke, maybe people would actually want you around!” I had stood alone under the shade of a tree. Eventually, Austin had walked over and said, “I’ll play with you.” But the moment Brooke’s partner left, he had abandoned me to run to her side. Ten years had passed, and I was still the one left standing alone. I used to believe Austin was the savior who would pull me out of my ocean of self-doubt. But in reality, he had been holding Brooke’s hand the entire time, casually watching me drown. The staff member at the entrance looked at me sympathetically. “Are you going in alone, miss?” I clenched my fists. “Yes. Alone.” The door pushed open, and I was plunged into total darkness. The sterile smell of bleach filled the air, accompanied by flickering red lights and hanging white sheets covering mannequins. At a sharp turn in the corridor, Brooke suddenly jumped out from the shadows. Startled, my foot slipped on the slick floor, and I went crashing down, my forehead slamming hard against the metal leg of a prop gurney. The lights in the room suddenly flooded on, and a chorus of laughter echoed through the space. “Tess, you are way too easy to scare!” My knee was scraped and bleeding, and a large, painful knot was already forming on my forehead. I slowly brushed the dust off my clothes, turned around, and walked out of the building. Austin ran out after me. “Are you angry? Brooke only did it for your own good.” I swallowed the throbbing pain and shook my head. “I’m not angry.” He reached out, gently touching the bruise on my forehead with a soft smile. “Tess is always the most obedient.” When the night finally ended, Austin prepared to drive Brooke home. “Her apartment is in a pretty secluded area, and she’s terrified of being alone in the dark,” he explained casually. “You can just call a cab back.” I looked directly into his eyes. “Why is it that when it comes to Brooke, you never think her fears are something she needs to ‘get over’?” His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Suddenly, the answers I had spent years searching for didn’t matter anymore. “Forget it. Just go.” When I got home, my mother was sitting on the sofa, eating sunflower seeds. “Did Austin drop you off?” “He went to drop Brooke off.” My mother tossed a handful of shells into the trash. “Look at you, absolutely useless.” “Austin comes from a good family, has a great job, and Brooke is such a perfect match for him. He must have been blind to choose you, and yet you still aren’t satisfied.” I looked at her, my gaze steady and calm. “You’re right, Mom. Brooke is a much better match for Austin than I am.” “And she’d make a much better daughter for you, too.” My mother slammed her hand on the table and stood up. “You’ve learned to talk back now? Do you honestly think anyone actually likes you?” “You have the exact same pathetic attitude as your father. You’ll never hold a candle to Brooke.” I went into my room and shut the door. She stood outside, screaming insults through the wood until past midnight. I put on my headphones and quietly began packing my bags. The next morning, I went out to buy supplies for the mountain village: snake repellent, bug spray, and a first-aid kit. When I returned, the front door was slightly ajar. The sound of laughter floated out from the living room. First, it was Brooke’s voice. “Hey, during the engagement party, right when Tessa walks onto the stage, let’s drop something on her from above to test her courage.” “What do you think? A fake snake, or maybe a dead rat?” Austin remained silent for a long time. Brooke’s tone grew irritable. “What’s with that face? If you’re going to take her side, then just stop talking to me altogether!” Austin finally let out a heavy sigh. “Fine… but this is the absolute last time. I don’t want Tess to get too traumatized.” He spoke as if he cared, and yet, he still agreed. My mother joined in on the laughter. “A good scare will do her some good. She’s been full of attitude lately, this will teach her a lesson.” The afternoon sun was scorching, but I felt a sudden, icy chill seep into my bones. My own engagement party was nothing more than a stage for their cruel prank. It was fine. It really was fine. When the laughter inside subsided, I pushed the door open and walked in. Austin quickly stood up, wrapping an arm around my shoulders with a nervous smile. “Tess, we were just planning the perfect engagement party for you.” “Okay,” I replied softly. Brooke leaned in close. “Tess, I’m throwing a little pre-wedding bachelor night for Austin tonight. You don’t mind, do you?” “I don’t mind.” But at two in the morning, my phone rang. I had to go pick up the two of them, both completely wasted. Brooke’s makeup was smudged with tears as she clutched Austin’s sleeve. “If you hadn’t refused to go to the same college as me… if you had just confessed to me back then, I wouldn’t have stubbornly told you I didn’t like you.” Austin covered his eyes with his hand, his voice raspy and broken. “I regret it too… I shouldn’t have gotten drunk and kissed Tessa just to spite you. I shouldn’t have stayed with her.” “But she… she just looked so pitiful when she smiled…” I leaned against the doorframe, my knees suddenly feeling weak. On the night of our high school graduation, we had all had our first drinks. Austin, completely drunk, had pulled me into his arms on the street corner, kissing me as he whispered, “I love you so much.” That was the first time in my life anyone had ever told me they loved me. I had felt like the luckiest girl in the world, my head spinning with joy. He had fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder, and I hadn’t dared to move a single inch, my heart racing through the entire night. Ten years of my life, built entirely on a mistake. I let out a silent, self-deprecating laugh. Of course. How could someone like me ever be truly loved? I dragged the two of them back into the apartment. The next morning, Austin and Brooke came to pick up my mother, saying they were heading to the hotel early to set up. I knew they were going to set up the “surprise.” Austin smiled warmly at me from the door. “Take your time getting ready, Tess. Don’t rush.” I nodded, watching them drive away. Skyler was already waiting for me at the train station. By the time I arrived, Austin had sent me a text: “Don’t come just yet, we aren’t fully ready.” In the background of his call earlier, I had overheard Brooke shrieking, “No, this dead rat looks too fake! Go find another one!” So that was their grand plan. I didn’t reply. My mother sent a voice note to our family group chat. “Our Tessa has always been timid and easily embarrassed. The engagement party will start a bit late to give her more time to prepare.” I smiled, muted my phone, and boarded the bus with Skyler. Right before my signal cut out entirely, I received one last voice note from Austin. “Where are you? You can come now, we’re ready.” In the background, Brooke was laughing. “Hurry up, hurry up! The surprise is waiting!” I turned my phone off and never looked back. Meanwhile, at the hotel banquet hall, Austin and the others waited. The heavy doors were suddenly pushed open. Brooke shrieked, throwing her prop forward. But the only person standing at the entrance was the hotel manager. “Miss Tessa asked me to inform you that she won’t be coming. She wishes you all a wonderful evening.” The smile on Austin’s face shattered instantly. My mother stood frozen in place, unable to believe her ears.

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1 Three days after my mother disappeared, I received her organ donation contract. Her heart, kidneys, and corneas were all marked. At the bottom, the authorized signature was my husband Xavier Knight’s. I rushed home to confront him, but he sounded as calm as if he were discussing dinner. “She was going to die sooner or later. Instead of letting her rot, it is better to use her to save someone with real value.” I shook with a rage so violent I could not speak. His phone lit up with a message from his first love Jessica. It was a selfie from her recovery room. Xav, the doctor says my recovery is perfect. I can finally see your face again. In the photo, she flashed a peace sign, white gauze taped near her eye, her smile sweet and triumphant. Three years ago, when she had kidney failure, Xavier borrowed my entire life savings. Two years ago, when her eyesight failed, he complained that my mother’s illness drained our finances. For Jessica, he exploited my dying mother. I gripped the donation papers until they crumpled. Xavier glanced at me and lit a cigarette. “Your mother suffered while alive. I helped her find peace. You should thank me.” He flicked ash into the tray. “Jessica is discharged next week. Prepare a generous gift for her recovery.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh and pulled out my phone. I dialed a number I had not called in six years. “Christian, I need a divorce. Can you help me?” … “Where are you? I’m coming with my men right now.” Christian’s deep, urgent voice crackled through the receiver. I gave him the address and hung up. Xavier drove me to the hospital. The doctor looked at me, hesitating for a long moment before offering a quiet, sympathetic condolence. My steps felt incredibly heavy as I walked down the corridor, finally leaning against the cold, sterile white wall outside the morgue. The blood in my veins felt as though it had frozen solid. The medical examiner pushed open the heavy steel door. A sharp, pungent wave of formalin mixed with the metallic scent of blood washed over me. “Family, please identify the body.” The white sheet was pulled back just a fraction. It was my mother, whom I had spent three agonizing days and nights searching for. Her deflated chest and abdomen had been hastily stitched back together with thick, black thread. Her eye sockets were deeply hollowed out, resembling two dried-up, empty wells. The examiner handed me a copy of the surgical records. Under the authorization line, Xavier’s signature was written in a bold, sweeping scrawl. My stomach churned violently. I clamped my hand over my mouth, rushing to the trash can in the hallway and dry-heaving. The stomach acid burned my throat, and hot tears splashed onto the cold linoleum floor. A tissue was suddenly held out in front of my face. Xavier stood there, half-bathed in the harsh fluorescent light. He was wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit, carrying his usual scent of expensive sandalwood. Clinging to his arm was Jessica, who was dressed in a pristine white patient gown. The corner of her eye was covered with clean medical gauze, and her lips were curved into a delicate, helpless pout. “Gwen, please don’t blame Xavier.” Jessica leaned her fragile body against his shoulder. “Your mother wandered off into the wilderness. By the time the search party found her, she was already brain-dead.” She raised a hand, gently touching the edge of her bandaged eye. “Xavier said that your mother always adored me when she was alive. He knew she would want me to have her eyes so I could keep looking at this beautiful world.” I stared at the gauze on her face. Those were my mother’s eyes, violently carved out of her body. Three days ago. Xavier had dismissed my mother’s private nurse under the guise of taking her to the park for some fresh air. He had returned alone that night, casually claiming she had wandered off and gotten lost. I had searched for her in the pouring rain for three days and three nights like a lunatic. Meanwhile, he was sitting in a sterile operating room, keeping vigil over his first love during her transplant surgery. “You left her in that unmonitored wilderness on purpose, didn’t you?” I forced myself to stand upright, leaning against the trash can for support. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms that beads of blood began to seep out. Xavier’s brow furrowed. He pulled back the hand holding the tissue, slowly smoothing the cuff of his sleeve. “Gwen, your mind is always so incredibly twisted.” His voice was entirely devoid of emotion. “Your mother had severe Alzheimer’s. Even if I had watched her twenty-four hours a day, she only had a few years left anyway.” “Now, her heart is beating in someone else’s chest, and her corneas have allowed Jessica to see again.” He reached out, wrapping his arm around Jessica’s waist. “The continuation of life is a beautiful thing. Why can’t you see that?” I lunged forward, swinging my hand to slap him across the face. But my wrist was caught in mid-air, gripped in a vice-like hold. My bones let out an ominous creak under his pressure. “Have you thrown enough of a tantrum?” Xavier’s eyes turned icy. “A hospital is not the place for your hysterics.” With a harsh shove, he threw me off balance. I fell hard onto the cold floor, the contents of my purse scattering across the linoleum. A crumpled ultrasound sheet drifted through the air, landing right at the tip of Xavier’s leather shoe. The printed numbers of the gestational sac were clearly visible. I scrambled to reach for it. But Jessica’s foot stepped onto the paper first. “Oh, what’s this?” She deliberately ground the heel of her shoe into the paper twice before slowly drawing her foot back. A dirty, black boot-print now covered the page, completely obscuring the words early pregnancy. “Gwen, are you pregnant?” Jessica gasped, covering her mouth in exaggerated shock. Xavier glanced down at the soiled paper. His eyes didn’t show a single flicker of warmth. “Since you’re pregnant, stay home and behave yourself.” He pulled a black card from his wallet, tossing it onto my lap. “I’ll have my assistant handle the funeral arrangements.” The sharp plastic edge of the card swiped across my cheek, leaving a thin red scratch. I looked at the card on my lap and let out a broken laugh. “Xavier, you bribed the medical examiner to falsify the brain-death report so you could illegally harvest her organs.” I looked up, my teeth clenched so hard they nearly shattered. “I’m going to the police.” Xavier looked down at me as if I were a petulant child throwing a useless fit. “Suit yourself.” He turned around, carefully shielding Jessica as they walked toward the exit. “But you might want to think it through first.” He stopped, casting a cold glance over his shoulder. “If you’re locked up in a cell, who is going to sign the authorization form to cremate your mother’s body?” Jessica turned back, offering me a sweet, mocking smile. “Gwen, once I’m discharged, I’ll be sure to visit your mother’s grave and burn some incense for her.” … The automatic lights in the hospital corridor flickered twice before dying completely. I sat alone outside the morgue for the entire night. By the next morning, Xavier’s assistant arrived, handing me a thick stack of legal documents. “Mrs. Knight, Mr. Knight says that if you sign this voluntary donation confirmation form, the deed to the historic family cottage will be officially transferred back to your name.” That cottage was the only piece of property my father had left behind. It was the place my mother had cherished most in the world. Years ago, when I chose to marry the penniless Xavier, I had severed all ties with my wealthy family. To help him launch his startup, I had sold all my stocks and personal assets. The only thing I had refused to touch was that historic cottage. And now, Xavier was using it to blackmail me. If I signed this paper, his illegal organ harvesting would be completely wiped clean in the eyes of the law. “And if I refuse?” I didn’t take the pen. The assistant adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his voice professional and detached. “Mr. Knight said that if you refuse, he will sell the cottage to developers this afternoon. They plan to level the entire property to build a golf course.” A thick, metallic taste rose in my throat. I closed my eyes. I remembered that freezing winter years ago. Xavier’s company was facing bankruptcy, and his creditors had chased him to the edge of the river. I hadn’t hesitated for a single second before diving into the icy water to save him. The extreme cold had ravaged my body, and the doctors had warned me that I would likely never be able to bear children. I had stayed awake outside his ICU room for three days and three nights. But when he finally woke up, Jessica was sitting by his bedside in dry, warm clothes, weeping beautifully. From that day on, Xavier treated Jessica as his savior. No matter how many times I tried to explain the truth, he simply brushed it off as petty jealousy. And now, the miracle child I had finally managed to conceive was something he couldn’t care less about. I snatched the pen from the assistant’s hand and scribbled my name across the page, the metal tip tearing through the paper. That afternoon, I dragged my exhausted body back to the cottage. When I pushed open the carved wooden gate, my heart shattered. The ancient trees in the courtyard had been violently chopped down, and several workmen were trampling over my mother’s prize orchids as they hauled furniture out of the house. “What do you think you’re doing?” I rushed forward, shoving one of the workers away. Jessica, wearing a vibrant red dress, stepped gracefully out of the front door. She was casually tossing a small green object in her hand: my mother’s vintage jade amulet, something she had worn close to her heart every single day. “Oh, Gwen, you’re back,” she purred, walking down the steps. “Xavier said the air here is wonderful for my recovery.” She gestured to the workmen. “I thought the garden looked a bit too plain, so I’m having them tear out all these boring plants to put in red roses.” My eyes locked onto the jade amulet in her hand. “Give that back to me.” I lunged forward to grab it. Jessica stepped back, raising her hand to hold the amulet high out of my reach. “Gwen, don’t be so stingy.” “Your mother is dead anyway. Keeping her old junk around will only bring bad luck to the house.” She opened her fingers. Clack. The priceless jade amulet struck the cobblestone steps, shattering into a dozen pieces. I froze, the last thread of my sanity snapping. I threw myself forward, delivering a stinging slap to her face. “Who do you think you are!” Jessica let out a sharp cry, collapsing onto the sharp fragments of jade, her palms instantly sliced open and bleeding. “Stop!” Xavier’s furious roar echoed from the gate. He stormed into the courtyard, grabbing my shoulder and shoving me away with terrifying force. My lower back collided violently with the edge of the stone table. A sharp, white-hot agony shot up my spine. Xavier carefully scooped Jessica into his arms. “Xav, I just thought the amulet was pretty and wanted to look at it,” Jessica sobbed against his chest, her tears flowing freely. “I don’t understand why Gwen is so angry.” Xavier looked up, his eyes filled with a lethal coldness. “Gwen, have you completely lost your mind?” I clutched my agonizing lower abdomen, cold sweat drenching my back. “She broke my mother’s amulet,” I gasped, my voice trembling violently as I pointed at the broken jade. “That was the only thing my mother left me.” Xavier glanced at the green shards on the ground, his frown deepening. “It’s just a piece of stone. I’ll buy you ten more.” He turned, carrying Jessica toward the gate. “This cottage has already been transferred to Jessica’s name.” He stopped, without even turning his head to look at me. “Pack your bags and get out immediately.” … The dull ache in my abdomen rapidly intensified. I felt a warm, thick liquid begin to trickle down my thighs. I gripped the edge of the stone table, my knuckles turning stark white. “Xavier,” I called out, my voice so weak it was nearly swallowed by the wind. “I’m pregnant.” Xavier’s footsteps paused. He slowly turned around, his gaze falling onto my skirt. The brilliant red stain was rapidly spreading. His eyes lingered on the blood for barely a second before returning to their usual detached coldness. “Gwen, playing the same pathetic trick twice is just sad.” He let out a dry, mocking chuckle. “You’re actually desperate enough to make up a pregnancy just to get my attention?” Jessica whimpered in his arms, shivering. “Xav, I’m scared.” “Let’s go. My hand hurts so much.” Xavier tightened his grip around her, never looking back at me. “Clean up the courtyard yourself,” he threw the final command over his shoulder, walking out of the gate. The roar of his car engine gradually faded into the distance. My legs gave out, and I slid down the side of the stone table onto the ground. My blood stained the stone patio, mixing with the shattered fragments of my mother’s jade. The pain felt as though a thousand hot needles were tearing through my organs. With the last of my fading consciousness, I dialed emergency services. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was greeted by the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The scent of antiseptic filled the air. The nurse was changing my IV drip. Seeing me wake up, she let out a quiet sigh. “You’re awake.” She avoided my gaze. “We couldn’t save the baby. Your body was already severely weakened. I’m afraid it will be very difficult for you to conceive again.” I listened to her words in absolute silence. There were no tears. I couldn’t even feel the weight of my own grief. I felt like an empty, hollow shell. The door was pushed open. Xavier walked in, looking immaculate in his tailored suit. The nurse quietly gathered her tray and slipped out of the room. He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, looking down at my pale face. “The doctor said you had a miscarriage.” His tone carried no trace of sorrow, as if he were reviewing a routine business report. I turned my head to look out the window at the gray, overcast sky, remaining silent. “Jessica suffered a mild concussion from your slap.” He picked up the medical chart at the foot of my bed, flipping through it idly. “A person who just had major surgery shouldn’t be subjected to that kind of stress.” He tossed the chart back onto the table with a dull thud. “The loss of this baby was probably a blessing in disguise.” “Don’t bring your bad luck around her.” I slowly turned my head to look at him. I stared at the face of the man I had loved with every fiber of my being for seven years. For him, I had abandoned my family, my pride, and my future. And all of it had been dismissed as a blessing in disguise. “Get out,” I whispered, my voice raw and dry. Xavier’s brow furrowed, clearly taken aback by my coldness. “When are you going to fix that miserable attitude of yours?” He stood up, adjusting his tie. “Stay in the hospital for the next few days.” “I’ve already sent workmen to begin renovations on the cottage.” “Tomorrow, I’ll have my assistant deliver your mother’s ashes to the suburban cemetery.” He checked a message on his phone. “Jessica wants some soup from the uptown diner, so I’m leaving.” Just as he reached the door, he paused. “The hospital bill has been taken care of.” “Don’t call me.” The door clicked shut, cutting off the noise from the hallway. I reached down and ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood immediately welled up, dripping onto the clean white sheets. I slid off the bed, my legs trembling like paper. But I couldn’t fall. I had to get my mother. I couldn’t let her ashes fall into the hands of those monsters. I changed into my clothes, leaning against the wall for support as I slowly made my way out of the hospital. The autumn wind was freezing, biting deep into my bones. I waved down a cab. “Take me to the South Hill Crematorium.” … The air inside the crematorium office was damp and heavy. I dragged my aching legs to the front desk. “I’m here to collect the ashes of Evelyn Pierce.” The clerk flipped through the registry, a look of hesitation on his face. “The ashes of Evelyn Pierce were collected by her family ten minutes ago.” My entire body went rigid. “Who took them?” “A Mr. Knight. There was a very elegant lady with him.” I turned and ran toward the exit. As I burst through the glass doors of the lobby, I saw Xavier’s black luxury car parked by the curb. Jessica was holding the dark wooden urn in her bare hands, tapping her manicured fingers playfully against the lid. “Xav, the psychic said that if we bury these ashes in the old dried well of the estate, it will ward off our bad luck and bring us wealth.” She smiled up at him, her eyes bright with malice. Xavier opened the passenger door for her. “Whatever makes you happy.” “Don’t you dare touch her!” I screamed, throwing myself forward and snatching the urn out of Jessica’s hands. Jessica gasped, stumbling backward. Xavier caught her quickly, his eyes flashing with lethal fury. “Gwen, have you not embarrassed yourself enough today?” I clutched the heavy urn to my chest, my body still raw from the surgery, standing purely on adrenaline and hatred. “This is her ashes!” I glared at him. “When she was alive, you drained her blood and stole her organs.” “And now that she’s dead, you want to use her ashes as a stepping stone for this woman?” Xavier’s face darkened. He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my throat, slamming me hard against the car door. “I don’t need a child like you telling me what to do.” The grip on my neck tightened, cutting off my air. My face burned, and I clawed desperately at his iron wrist. Jessica stood nearby, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. “Xav, the way she’s glaring at me is terrifying,” she whimpered, pretending to shrink back. Xavier’s grip tightened further. “Drop the urn.” His voice was a low, menacing growl. “Never,” I gasped through my teeth. Jessica stepped forward, reaching out to pry my fingers off the wooden box, one by one, her sharp nails digging deep into my raw flesh. “Gwen, your mother loved me so much. I’m sure she’d be happy to protect me.” With a violent wrench, she tore the urn from my grip. Crash. The heavy wooden box slipped from her hands, striking the concrete pavement. The wood split open, and a cloud of gray-white ash spilled across the dirty ground, catching in the wind. The world went silent. “Mom!” A primal, agonizing scream tore from my throat as I fought my way out of Xavier’s grip. I dropped to my knees on the cold concrete, desperately clawing at the dust, trying to gather the scattered ashes back together. But the wind was too strong, carrying her away from me. “Please… don’t leave me…” I sobbed, my tears mixing with the gray dust on my face. A sharp high heel suddenly came down on the back of my hand. The pointed heel punctured my skin, pinning my hand to the pavement. Blood immediately pooled around the gray ashes. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Jessica squealed, grinding her heel deeper into my flesh. “The wind was just so strong, I lost my balance.” Xavier stood by, watching me grovel in the dirt without a single ounce of pity. “Get her out of here,” he ordered his men. Two burly bodyguards stepped forward, grabbing my arms and dragging me away. The violent movement tore open my surgical wounds, and a fresh wave of blood began to seep through my trousers. The guards shoved my face down into the dirt, holding me pinned against the scattered ashes. My vision began to blur, and darkness crept in at the edges of my sight. Xavier brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve. “Dump her somewhere far away. Don’t let her ruin Jessica’s mood.” But just as the guards prepared to drag my limp body into the shadows, the screech of burning rubber sliced through the quiet air. A sleek, black Rolls-Royce swerved sharply around the corner, blocking Xavier’s car. The heavy door was kicked open.

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1 On my twenty-fourth birthday, a strange app materialized on everyone’s phones in my family. Inside lived another version of me. She went by Tina, too, but she was lightyears ahead of me. Mom’s bakery had been bleeding money for three years. The other Tina casually tweaked a recipe, and the shop sold out by noon. Dad had failed his tenure bid three times; she rewrote his presentation, and the dean called him in for a private meeting the very next day. Tristan’s tech startup was on the brink of collapse; she spent ten minutes restructuring his pitch deck, securing a cool twenty million from venture capitalists. From then on, Mom asked her for new recipes every single day. Dad printed out screenshots of her advice like scripture. Tristan wouldn’t even buy an engagement ring without consulting her first. On my twenty-fifth birthday, before the cake was even cut, Mom stared at her phone and whispered, “Does she have to stay trapped in that screen?” Dad replied in a low murmur, “Can we bring her over? For real?” Tristan tapped the customer service button. [Apply for Parallel Life Exchange?] The prompt read: [Upon exchange, the Tina of this world will be transferred to the alternate world. Confirm?] There wasn’t a shred of hesitation. I watched their fingers press “Confirm.” My nails dug so hard into my palms that they drew blood. I forced a fragile smile. “Since you love her so much, don’t look back.” The next second, red text flashed across the screen: [Exchange protocol initiated. Countdown: 7 days.] The living room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence after the countdown appeared. Mom let out a soft, shaky breath. Realizing I was still standing there, she cut a small slice of cake and held it out to me. “It’s your birthday. Don’t be bitter. Have something sweet.” I stared at her, frozen. For the past year, I had been a ghost in my own home. When I spoke, she looked right through me, her eyes glued to the screen. But it hadn’t always been like this. When I was a kid and caught a fever, she’d hold me through the night. When I complained the frosting was too rich, she’d scrape it off and give me the soft sponge cake underneath. She used to say, “The sweetest bite always goes to my Tina.” I thought those embers of love had died long ago. But as she held out the fork, I still leaned in and took a bite. The cream was velvety, swallowing down with a bitter, suffocating lump in my throat. Mom smiled, thinking I was placated. “Once she gets here, she’ll help scale up the bakery first, get your dad his tenure, and stabilize Tristan’s firm. Once everything is perfect, we’ll bring you back. You’ll be our little princess again.” Princess. I hadn’t heard that word in a year. Dad sat nearby, his tone firm and unyielding. “We aren’t abandoning you. We’re just letting someone more capable handle the heavy lifting for a while. You’ll benefit from this too, in the end.” My head was bowed, picking at my cuticles. The familiar cold tide of abandonment washed over me. Tristan knelt before me, pulling a small box from his pocket. He slipped the ring onto my ring finger. “My heart will always belong to you, Tina.” His voice was a low, comforting rumble. Tears spilled onto his hand. I almost begged him: If your heart is mine, why are you trading me away? But as I wiped my eyes, I saw the ring. Champagne gold, encrusted with a halo of tiny pavé diamonds. It was gorgeous, but it wasn’t me. I loved simple, classic platinum bands. Years ago, standing in front of a jewelry display, he swore he’d remember. Now, he smiled with absolute ease. “She picked it,” he said. “I didn’t ask some random girl. I asked the other you. So it still counts as being faithful, right?” My fingers curled tightly. I rubbed the pad of my thumb against the sharp edges of the diamonds. The stinging pain was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. He couldn’t even love me without asking her first. Then, a voice note from the app chimed. “Did I make Tina unhappy? If she’s truly hurting, I don’t have to come.” Mom grabbed her phone instantly. “Tina, sweetheart, don’t think like that!” Dad added, “Choosing the optimal path is never a mistake.” Tristan coos, “She’s always been overly sensitive. Don’t let it get to you.” I sat at the table, the sweet taste turning entirely to ash. My tongue grew numb. An itch began to crawl up my neck, hot and blooming across my collarbone. I finally recognized the subtle fruity tang masked by the heavy cream. “Mom, is there mango in the cake?” Mom froze. “Just a splash of puree. She said it would elevate the flavor… I forgot you were allergic.” She finally remembered. I saw the brief flicker of panic in her eyes. Despite the burning itch on my skin, a pathetic spark of hope flared in my chest: hope that, before I was banished, they might still show they cared. But her next words froze that spark solid. “What if your face scars? Will she be upset when she takes over your body?” I gasped for air, spots dancing before my eyes. Tristan supported me, offering to take me to the ER. But his phone buzzed, and he immediately looked down to text her back: Don’t worry, it won’t affect you. I pulled my hand back from his grip. At the hospital, the ER doctor asked, “Didn’t her family know she has a severe mango allergy?” Mom started to make excuses. I cut her off: “They forgot. A long time ago.” When we got home, the antihistamines made me drowsy. Standing in the foyer, I heard Dad on the phone upstairs: “It has to be fully remodeled within seven days. She likes cream-white. She needs a large desk. Replace the bed and wardrobe. The new Tina will be here soon.” I dragged myself up the stairs and pushed open my bedroom door. Mom was tossing my pillows and blankets into a box. My old star-shaped nightlight was thrown carelessly into a cardboard bin. I rushed over and grabbed it, my hands shaking. Dad had built that for me. He used to stroke my hair and say he wanted me to sleep under the stars every night. “What are you doing?” Mom glanced back. “Oh, you’re back. Good. Pack up your knick-knacks. The contractors are coming to measure the room tomorrow morning.” “Where am I supposed to sleep?” Mom answered naturally. “Isn’t there a cot in the basement study? Stay there for now.” The study had no windows. Just Dad’s old army surplus cot. Stacks of dusty files piled in the corner, a flickering lightbulb. I remembered being terrified of the dark as a child. Dad had lined my walls with warm nightlights. “My little girl’s room should look exactly how she wants it,” he’d said. Now, Dad walked in with a blueprint. “Cream-white is much more sophisticated than this. Your old room was too childish anyway.” I tried to stop him from ripping down the old nightlights. He frowned and shoved my hand away. “You’re leaving for another world in a few days. Why are you clinging to this junk?” My hand was still swollen from the hives. I stumbled against the sharp corner of the wall, a sharp pain radiating up my arm. Mom took a step forward. I thought she was going to help me up, but she just held Dad back and glared at me coldly. “Don’t touch her. Her hives haven’t cleared yet. If you bruise her, what will she think when she gets here?” I froze. Dad grumbled, pointing a finger at me. “Still causing trouble, even when you’re on your way out.” I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “Doesn’t she have her own parents? Her own boyfriend over there? She talks to you guys until midnight every night. Doesn’t that strike you as pathetic?” The hallway went dead silent. Mom’s face paled. “How can you be so vicious, Tina?” Dad’s voice turned ice-cold. “A brilliant girl is willing to bless this family, and you call it pathetic? We should be thanking our lucky stars.” Tristan walked in just then, carrying a takeout bag with breakfast. Seeing me standing in the hallway looking ghostly, he frowned. “Arguing again?” He handed me a warm cup of coffee. “You had a severe reaction last night. Drink something warm.” My fingers brushed the warm paper cup. Tears pricked my eyes again. I thought he at least cared about my health. Then he dropped the hammer. “Don’t go into the office today. I’ve already requested a long-term leave of absence for you.” I stared at him. “What do you mean?” Tristan avoided my gaze. “You won’t be here in seven days. Keeping you on the project isn’t fair to the firm.” I snatched my phone. I had already been removed from the company Slack. A message from my supervisor sat in my inbox from thirty minutes ago: Tina, your family informed us that your mental health has been unstable recently and you can’t continue working. Your resignation has been processed. Please mail back your ID badge. Mental instability. Resignation. Each word felt like a needle driving straight into my temples. “Who did this?” Mom pursed her lips. “I had Tristan take care of it. You’re leaving anyway. No point in hogging the position.” Dad added, “Leave with some dignity. Don’t make a scene and embarrass us.” My hands shook violently. That was a job I had pulled eighty-hour weeks for three years to secure. They threw it away with a casual “you’re leaving anyway.” Tristan reached out to steady me. “Tina, don’t be like this. When you come back, I’ll take care of you.” I stepped back. “Do you honestly believe I’m ever coming back?” Nobody answered. Tristan’s hand hung suspended in the air before slowly dropping. I took the coffee back to the windowless study. The cot was narrow, and my hives throbbed against the warm paper cup. I desperately needed to talk to Cassidy, my best friend. For the past year, while my family revolved around the other Tina, Cassidy was the only one who listened. Last New Year’s Eve, while my parents were on a video call with the other Tina, Cassidy sat with me on the curb outside a 24-hour diner, sharing a plate of greasy fries. If things ever get too bad, you can always crash at my place, she had said. I tapped her contact and held down the voice message button. I cried for sixty seconds straight, pouring my heart out. The moment I let go, a red exclamation mark popped up. Message undelivered. I stared in disbelief. I checked our group chats. Nothing. I had been removed from the college group, the work group, even our casual dinner group. I dialed Cassidy’s number. First time, ignored. Second time, declined. On the fifth try, she finally picked up. She let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Why are you calling me, Tina?” My throat squeezed. “Cassidy, it’s me.” “I know it’s you,” her voice trembled with cold fury. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You told us you were moving on to a higher tier of life and didn’t want to be dragged down by average friends. Did you really have to post all our secrets in the group chat?” I went rigid. “I didn’t do that.” “You did. Last night. You blasted my family stuff, called Lily’s relationship toxic, said we’re all pretending to be happy while our lives are a mess. Then you told us never to contact you again.” My jaw slackened. I couldn’t make a sound. Last night, I was hooked to an IV at the ER. My phone was in Mom’s purse. “Tina, if you didn’t want to be our friend anymore, you could have just said so,” Cassidy spat. “You didn’t have to drag us through the dirt.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had nothing left. Not even a friend to turn to. I stormed out of the study. Mom was discussing wardrobe sizes with the contractor. I slammed the phone onto the table. “Why did you use my phone to send those messages?” Mom frowned. “When she gets here, we can’t have random, messy people crowding her space and asking questions.” Dad didn’t even look up from his blueprints. “The simpler your social circle, the smoother the transition.” A hysterical laugh escaped my lips. “So you quit my job, cut off my friends, and kicked me out of my own room.” Mom’s expression soured. “Why must you be so difficult, Tina? You’re leaving anyway. Why do you have to make this harder for us?” Then her eyes landed on my wrist. It was a vintage silver heirloom cuff, given to me by my grandmother right before she passed. Mom grabbed my arm. “Take this off too.” I jerked back. “No! Grandmother gave this to me.” Mom gripped my wrist tight, her fingers squeezing my bones. “Genevieve mentioned she loves vintage silver. She has the grace to pull it off. It’ll look much better on her.” The pain made my fingers tremble. Dad stepped over, pinning my shoulder down with an impatient sigh. “It’s just a bracelet. Stop throwing a tantrum.” Mom poured dish soap over my hand and forcibly yanked the metal cuff down. It scraped against the raw, swollen hives, leaving a weeping trail of red. My vision swam. I watched her slide the cuff into a velvet jewelry box. Something inside me snapped. The last string holding me to them broke. I took a deep breath, and the urge to fight evaporated. Mom closed the box. “See? That’s better. If you just cooperate, this will be easy on everyone.” I looked down at my bare, raw wrist. “Okay,” I whispered, forcing a wide, vacant smile. “I’ll cooperate.” Mom stared at me, suspicious of my sudden compliance. Dad locked the study door from the outside, claiming it wasn’t to punish me, but to keep me from doing something reckless in my unstable state. Tristan stood in the hall, holding my phone. “Just hang in there for a few more days, Tina,” he muttered through the door. “When this is over, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” I sat on the narrow cot in the pitch black. I touched the bare skin where my grandmother’s cuff used to be. I felt an eerie, beautiful peace. That night, Mom slid a bowl of plain oatmeal through a crack in the door. No spoon, no toppings. “Bland is better for your allergies,” she said. I stared at the lukewarm mush and smiled. When I was sick as a kid, she would slow-cook chicken broth for hours, blowing on each spoonful to cool it down. Now, she was only feeding me to keep the vessel intact. Over the next two days, I listened to them decorate the room through the locked door. “Gen, what kind of scented candles do you like?” Mom cooed into her phone. “Should the desk face the window or the wall?” Dad asked. “Do you want a white or champagne gown for the engagement dinner?” Tristan murmured. They were gentler with her than they had ever been with me. On the final day, Mom unlocked the door, holding a box of ribbons and balloons. “Come out. Stop sulking. Today is the day.” The house was unrecognizable. Soft cream-white flowers, warm champagne lights, and a low-sugar cake sat on the counter. Mom handed me a spool of silk ribbon. “Your fingers are nimble. Tie some bows on the chairs.” I took it, tying them one by one. Dad watched me, his brow furrowed. “Why are you being so quiet?” Tristan paused. “Tina, are you planning something?” I kept my head down, pulling the silk tight until it dug a white crease into my skin. “Didn’t you say so? If I cooperate, it’s easier on everyone.” A flicker of guilt crossed Mom’s face, but she quickly brushed it off. “As long as you understand.” The app chimed. A video call from the parallel Tina connected. Seeing me decorating, she smiled softly. “Thank you, Tina.” Everyone stared at me, bracing for a breakdown. I just smiled back. “You’re welcome. It’s your home now.” When those words left my mouth, there was no pain. Just a vast, liberating emptiness. Mom froze. Dad adjusted his glasses. Tristan’s eyes flashed with sudden panic. “Tina, don’t say it like that.” I tied the final bow, turned, and went back into the study. Before the door closed, I heard Mom whisper, “Her being this quiet makes me uneasy.” Tristan replied, “Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her ruin this at the finish line.” I sat on the cot and pulled out an old tablet I had hidden under the mattress. The app was logged in there, too. The screen popped up with a final prompt: “Do you wish to waive your right to appeal? Once waived, the exchange is permanent and irreversible.” I listened to the joyful laughter floating from the living room. They thought I had finally learned my place. But they didn’t get it. I wasn’t resigning myself to fate. I was abandoning them. I tapped Confirm. [Countdown: 10 seconds.] In those ten seconds, Mom’s giddy voice echoed through the walls. “She’s almost here!” I closed my eyes. For the first time in my life, I didn’t look back.

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1 I spent three years chasing my arranged fiancé. But after he moved to London, his attitude toward me suddenly did an about-face. During our online relationship, his messages grew increasingly bold. “Baby… let me hear you. Just a little whisper.” “I want to show you what you do to me.” I’d bury my face in the pillows, blushing furiously, letting out soft, quiet whimpers into the receiver. Then came his welcome-back party. I was stuck in traffic and running late. Just as I was about to push the door open, Josh’s cold, mocking voice drifted through the heavy oak doors of the private club. “Oh, Rachel? She’s way too clingy. I can barely breathe around her.” “Good thing I had my best bro handle the online stuff for me while I was away. She didn’t suspect a thing.” “She’s chased me since we were kids. Way too easy. There’s zero thrill in it.” “Besides, I’m not ready to settle down yet.” I froze, my hand tightening on the brass door handle. Inside the private suite, the guys burst into laughter. “Damn, Josh, you’re savage.” “But handing Rachel over to Dave? You’ve got some nerve. She’s a sweet girl, she’s no match for a guy like Dave.” Josh flicked his lighter, puffing lazily on a cigarette. “Relax. You know Dave. Good girls aren’t his type anyway.” Someone scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” “With a face like Rachel’s, who wouldn’t want a taste?” “She looks so pure, but her body is insane. Most guys wouldn’t be able to hold back.” “If she were my girl, I’d be grinning from ear to ear.” “Remember back in high school? When those guys harassed her, you chased them off. What if, and I’m just saying what if, Dave can’t resist?” Josh’s brow furrowed slightly. Sensing the shift in the room, another guy quickly laughed and cut in. “What are you even thinking? Hands off Rachel. Besides, her whole world revolves around Josh. Even if Dave stripped naked in front of her, she wouldn’t even blink.” Josh’s tense expression softened. “By the way, Josh,” a friend asked, “you had plenty of fun in Europe. What about Rachel? She is your fiancée.” “When you were kids, you spoiled her so much. You wouldn’t let anyone else date her, and you took her everywhere. Why the sudden shift?” Josh looked down, ashes falling from his cigarette. “Treating her like a little sister was fine. But thinking about her as my wife… I don’t know, it just feels suffocating.” “She was always so controlling. No dating, no getting too close to other girls. I’m a man, not a monk.” “And Rachel is always there, trailing after me. It’s too easy. There’s no challenge. If I marry her now, I’ll feel like my life is already over. I need to see what else is out there.” Someone chuckled. “No wonder you slept your way through London. You were starved.” “If Rachel finds out, she’ll cry her eyes out.” Josh shot him a cold look, his voice dropping. “No need to hurt her. Just keep my wild days quiet.” 2 It took every ounce of my willpower not to slam that door open and scream at Josh. Josh and I grew up together. Our families were from the same wealthy gated community, and our parents were incredibly close. I had realized my feelings for him early on. Ever since I was a little girl, I spent my days trailing after him like a shadow. Josh never seemed to mind. He always looked out for me like an older brother. When my parents told me we were arranged to marry, my first reaction wasn’t embarrassment. It was pure, unadulterated joy. Finally, he was going to be mine. But Josh’s reaction was the exact opposite. He started avoiding me. His texts grew shorter, and whenever I asked to meet up, he was always too busy. Sometimes I would wait outside his house. I knew he was home, but he’d have the housekeeper come down and tell me he was out. Eventually, he fled the country to study abroad. I cried myself to sleep for days. But shortly after he landed in London, his attitude changed. He became warm and attentive, texting me constantly. Sometimes, it felt like he was actively trying to seduce me. As time went on, our chats became incredibly bold. “Baby, just got out of the shower. Only wearing a towel.” “Want to see my abs?” “Do you like it here?” “Want me to drop the towel a little lower?” Unable to resist, my mouth dry, I would type back: “Yes, I want to see. Lower. Drop it a bit.” Staring at those highly charged, sensual photos, I was completely breathless. I never knew Josh’s body was so hot, so incredibly well-built. And even his… well, he was exceptionally gifted. He coaxed me into becoming bolder. I started calling him baby and saying dirty things I never would have dared to utter before. Occasionally, the person behind the screen would ask: “Baby, do you know Dave?” I was always a little confused. “Who? Not really. Why bring him up, baby?” He would stay silent for a long time before replying: “Nothing.” Once, I had a severe asthma attack and collapsed in my apartment. After graduation, I had moved out to live alone. Before losing consciousness, I managed to send a desperate text to Josh’s account. Not long after, I felt strong arms lifting me up. Someone was whispering in my ear, his voice frantic and shaking, but I couldn’t make out the words. When I finally woke up in the hospital, a man was sitting by my bedside. His features were so strikingly handsome he barely looked real. Compared to the men I knew, Josh was attractive, but this man was in a league of his own. I stared at him, dazed. Seeing me open my eyes, his tense shoulders relaxed. “How are you feeling? Any pain?” “Who… are you?” I rasped. He paused, then replied quietly, “Dave. My name is Dave.” I asked how he knew I was in trouble. He explained that Josh had called him and asked him to check on me. I believed him. I didn’t pry any further and sincerely thanked him. From that day on, Dave showed up constantly under the guise of Josh’s concern. He cooked my meals and cleaned my place. He was an incredible cook. Every time I tried to politely ask him to leave, he would stuff my mouth with delicious food. Eventually, I gathered enough resolve to say, “You don’t need to keep coming over. I can take care of myself.” Dave only smiled. “Josh is terrified you’ll get hurt. He asked me to look after you.” I felt a blush creep up my neck. “He really said that?” “Yeah. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.” I immediately texted Josh’s account to double-check. The reply came instantly: “Yes, I asked him to. You live alone and have asthma. I can’t rest easy, so let him watch over you.” I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I had intended to keep things strictly platonic and distant with Dave. Until last night. A massive storm was raging outside. Worried about him driving back in the torrential rain, I insisted he stay the night in my guest room. Late that night, I got up to get a glass of water. As I walked past Dave’s room, I noticed the door wasn’t fully closed. I went to shut it quietly, but the sight inside pinned me to the spot. He was holding a pair of my white lace panties. They were the ones I had lost a week ago and couldn’t find anywhere. Dave’s eyes were tightly shut, his head tilted back. His throat bobbed as he let out low, repressed whimpers. He was holding the lace as if it were my hand, using it to touch himself, doing the very things he was too afraid to ask of me. I stood frozen behind the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. That was the moment I realized Dave had feelings for me. But since he was Josh’s best friend, I didn’t want to cause a scene. In the end, I pretended I hadn’t seen anything. Today, at the welcome-back dinner, I had planned to pull Josh aside, tell him about Dave’s behavior, and ask him to keep Dave away from me. I never expected to hear the truth standing outside that door. My eyes stung. I thought Josh had changed for the better while he was away. I had no idea he found me so annoying that he threw his account to Dave, letting another man play with my feelings. From start to finish, the two of them had conspired to make a fool out of me. 3 I wiped my tears, refusing to let them fall, and walked back to my empty apartment. When I opened the door, I saw Dave in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, hand-washing my underwear. The memory of last night flashed in my mind. My head throbbed. I marched over and snatched the lace panties out of his hands. “I told you to just throw them in the washing machine.” Dave looked at me, his gaze gentle and persuasive. “The machine doesn’t clean them properly. Let me do it.” “I can wash my own clothes.” “Be good, Rachel. I do a better job.” The words, I have a fiancé, this isn’t right, hovered on the tip of my tongue. But I swallowed them down. A fiancé? Did Josh even count anymore? He had practically handed me over to Dave to play with. A bitter wave washed over me. Because of my engagement, I had spent years being incredibly careful. I kept a strict distance from any other man. Even when Dave came to look after me, I never crossed the line. I never wore my revealing silk slips around him. I timed my showers so he wouldn’t be near the bathroom. I maintained a careful three-foot bubble around myself. And yet, Josh thought I was too easy. Boring. He wanted to sleep around with all kinds of women to figure out what he liked. If he could play, why couldn’t I? To be fair, Dave was gorgeous and attentive. His family’s influence was even greater than Josh’s. Playing with him wasn’t a loss at all. I tossed the panties back into the basin. “Fine, wash them.” “Since you love doing this so much, you can handle them from now on.” Dave paused, looking up at me in pleasant surprise, as if he had just received a massive reward. “Are you serious?” I smiled. “Of course. You’re doing me a favor, I should be thanking you.” “I’m going upstairs to change into a nightgown. Wash whatever I leave behind, okay?” Dave’s throat bobbed. He let out a low, breathless laugh. “With pleasure.” 4 I peeled off my restrictive clothes and slipped into a loose, comfortable nightgown. In the past, whenever Dave was over, I’d wear conservative, stifling outfits, making sure everything was properly buttoned up. Now, I didn’t care anymore. At dinner, Dave laid out a feast of my favorite dishes. I kept my head down, eating quietly. Dave reached over with a napkin, naturally wiping a smudge of sauce from the corner of my mouth. “Rachel, can I stay here tonight?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. He quickly explained, “You’ve had two asthma attacks this month. I’m really worried about you being alone.” Before today, I would have rejected him without a second thought. But today was different. I swallowed my food and said, “They have been happening more often lately. I’ve been a bit anxious too.” “It would make me feel a lot better if you stayed.” Dave smiled, a dark, possessive spark flaring in his eyes. Later that night, while he was in the shower, I took the opportunity to unlock his phone. I found his chat history with Josh. Josh: “Where are you?” Dave: “At Rachel’s house.” Josh: “What the hell are you doing there?” Dave: “Her asthma’s been acting up. I don’t feel safe leaving her alone.” Josh: “Fine. But let me remind you, I asked you to watch her, not cross the line.” Dave: “You don’t want to marry her anyway. What’s the matter? Had your fun abroad, and now you want to come back to your old toy?” Dave: “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out?” Josh: “My business with her is none of your concern.” Josh: “Besides, Rachel is so clingy she can’t survive without me. Even if she finds out, a few sweet words and she’ll be wagging her tail right back to me. I can’t shake her off even if I try.” I stared at those words for a long time. My chest ached, but I forced the tears back. He wasn’t worth a single tear. Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened. I took a deep breath, locked the screen, and placed his phone exactly where I found it. That night, I took a shower and changed into a sultry, deep red silk slip dress. It was short, barely covering the curve of my thighs, with a plunging neckline. My friend had bought it for me, teasing that my body was too good to waste on flannel pajamas. I had left it in the back of my closet with the tags still on. Tonight, I tore the tags off. I didn’t dry my hair. Water droplets slid down my collarbone, dampening the silk over my chest. The wet fabric clung to my curves. I walked out barefoot. Dave was sitting on the couch, drying his hair. When he looked up and saw me, his movements froze. It was only for a split second before he looked away, but I caught the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His throat convulsed. Pretending not to notice, I walked into my bedroom, leaving the door open, and curled up in the armchair. The hem of my dress rode up, exposing the smooth length of my thighs. I snapped a photo of myself and sent it to Josh’s, no, Dave’s account. “Baby, just got out of the shower. Only wearing this slip.” “Nothing underneath.” “Want to see me pull it up?” The reply came instantly. “Since when did my girl learn to be such a tease?” I smiled, typing back: “You’re the bad influence here. I learned from the best.” We texted back and forth until the early hours of the morning. The next day, when Dave came in with breakfast to wake me up, he saw me still wearing the red slip. His ears turned bright red instantly. 5 Since I had missed Josh’s first welcome-back party, our mutual friends organized another dinner to make up for it. At the restaurant, I sat right between Josh and Dave. The moment I sat down, Josh turned to look at me, his eyes lingering on my face. “You look much better than before.” “Do I?” I asked casually. “Yeah. You used to look so fragile.” He paused, adding, “Looks like Dave has been taking good care of you.” I smiled. “He really has. I have you to thank for sending him to me.” One of our friends, clearly looking for drama, grinned and asked, “Hey Rachel, notice any changes in Josh since he came back?” Josh shot him a warning glare. I set my fork down. “Actually, yes. A huge change.” Both Josh and Dave stiffened. I looked down, playing shy. “He’s been so much sweeter to me. I think I’ve fallen even harder for him. I look forward to our late-night chats every single night.” Josh blinked, looking slightly bewildered, while Dave’s expression turned incredibly dark. Soon, the food was served. Josh started boasting about his wild adventures in Europe. I didn’t care to listen, reaching instead for the spicy shrimp. But I ran into a problem. My freshly manicured nails made it impossible to peel them. Without thinking, I pouted. “Baby, my nails are too long. Can you peel them for me?” Josh frowned, about to reach over. But Dave, sitting closer, naturally pulled the plate toward himself. He picked up a shrimp, his voice dripping with affection. “Of course. I’ve got you. You’re so spoiled.” The table went dead silent. Everyone froze. Sensing the heavy tension, someone laughed nervously. “Rachel was asking Josh, Dave. You must have misheard.” Dave’s fingers stilled. He looked up, his voice cool and even. “Ah. Must have.” But he didn’t put the shrimp down. Josh’s face darkened significantly. His eyes darted between Dave and me, his tone dropping to sub-zero temperatures. “If he wants to do it, let him.” Dave smirked. “If you say so.” He went right back to peeling. For the rest of the dinner, I didn’t have to lift a finger. He peeled the shrimp, dipped them in sauce, and lined them up on my plate. He picked out the bones from the fish before placing it in my bowl. He even blew on the soup to cool it down before sliding it over. Dave did all of this with an ease that suggested it was the most natural thing in the world. And I accepted his pampering without a shred of guilt. I took a bite of the shrimp and smiled at him. “Dave, you’re amazing at this. It tastes great.” To my left, Josh was gripping his silverware so hard his knuckles turned white. He tried to start a conversation with me several times, but I ignored him, keeping my focus entirely on Dave. Dave placed a piece of fish in my bowl. “Try this one. I ordered it specifically for you.” “How did you know I liked this?” Dave’s lips curved into a soft smile. “You ate a lot of it when I made it at your place last week. I remembered.” Josh slammed his chopsticks onto the table. I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, quietly sipping my soup. By the end of the meal, I hadn’t spoken a single word to Josh. His face looked like a thunderstorm, dark and suffocating. Finally, as the waiter cleared the plates and brought out the dessert, Josh spoke up. “Rachel, we need to talk about our engagement.” I finally looked at him. “Go ahead.” Seeing my attention on him, Josh’s expression softened slightly, his tone gentler. “I don’t think we should rush into marriage right away.” “We should give each other some space and time. What do you think?” I nodded easily. “Sure. I agree.” He assumed I was just being difficult. “Don’t be childish, Rachel. I always saw you as a sister, so adjusting to the idea of you as my wife is going to take time. It’s only normal…” Then, my words finally registered. He froze. “Wait. You agree?” His face fell completely. “Rachel, what is that supposed to mean?” I tilted my head, looking innocent. “Exactly what I said. You’re right. We need space and time. I agree. Is there a problem?” Josh opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had clearly never expected me to let him off the hook so easily. 6 After dinner, the few glasses of wine I drank began to catch up to me. I felt lightheaded. Dave supported me by my waist. “I didn’t drink. I’ll drive you home.” Josh stepped in front of us, blocking our path. “And why are you the one driving her home?” I blinked at him sleepily. “Josh, you’re being so weird.” “Didn’t you ask Dave to take care of me?” “We’re living together now anyway. Didn’t you agree to that too?” Josh snapped, “I never agreed to—” He cut himself off, swallowing the rest of his sentence. After all, he was the one who had handed his account to Dave. He was the one with the guilty conscience. He had no choice but to watch us walk away, leaving him standing under the neon lights of the club. When we got back to the apartment, I slumped onto the couch. Dave immediately went to the kitchen to pour me some warm water. I curled up against the cushions, a small smirk playing on my lips. I pulled out my phone and sent a text. “Baby, I want to wear a catgirl outfit for you.” “Here are a few styles I like. Help me choose one.” Dave walked back into the living room, holding the glass. Just as he set it down, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and opened the chat. The sheer visual impact of the photos made his eyes widen. The model in the pictures wore a strapless, tight black dress, complete with a cat tail, black ears, and a delicate gold bell around her neck. Beneath the photos was my text: “Baby, do you want to see me in this?” He looked from the screen to me, his ears turning a furious shade of crimson. His imagination was clearly running wild. He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “I’m going to use the restroom.” I smiled. “Go ahead.” Dave stayed in the bathroom for an exceptionally long time. When he finally walked out, his eyes were slightly rimmed with red, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. He looked like a man who had just committed a very delicious crime. I grinned, typing out one last message. “Baby, let’s do a video call. We can choose together.” He froze, panic flashing across his face. He quickly typed back: “Wait.” But I didn’t wait. I hit the video call button. In the quiet living room, Dave’s phone suddenly blared with the incoming call ringtone. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes wide. I waved my phone at him, tilting my head. “Dave, you were in the bathroom for so long. Did your hand do a good job? Why aren’t you answering?”

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My roommate was a self-proclaimed eco-savior. In the dead of a sweltering hundred-degree summer, she locked the thermostat cover and hid the key. “Everyone sweats in July. Just suck it up and consider it your contribution to saving the planet.” That night, not a single breeze cut through the stifling air. Our dorm room was a literal oven. My head throbbed, sweat pouring off me in waves. When I tried to find the key, she climbed onto a chair and snipped the power cord to the AC unit. “Can’t you see Mother Nature is burning up? You selfish brat, constantly spewing greenhouse gases.” In my past life, that night was the beginning of an endless nightmare. The entire campus hounded and vilified me. They claimed I was pampered, unable to empathize with the environment, while praising her noble sense of mission. In the end, I suffered a fatal cardiogenic shock, dying before I could even dial 911. She wept bitterly in front of the cameras, telling the media my heart gave out because I consumed too much processed junk food. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very first day of the semester. She was sliding the key to the thermostat cover into her drawer, looking at me with tear-brimmed eyes. “Gloria, a little heat won’t kill you, right?” I grabbed my phone and my medical records, heading straight for the resident dean’s office. “I’d like to request a single room, please.” If anyone wanted to play the martyr, they were welcome to it. I was busy keeping myself alive. 1 Dean Gable looked up, only halfway through the freshman roster. “Gloria? You just checked in and you’re already asking for a single?” I placed my acceptance letter, ID copy, triple-A hospital diagnostic report, and the housing transfer form neatly on her desk. “Dean, I have a history of severe myocardial ischemia. Extreme heat triggers cardiogenic shock almost instantly.” “Right now, my roommate, Sienna, is refusing to let us turn on the AC or even use box fans.” The office fell dead silent. The student assistant sorting papers nearby paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, looking completely bewildered. “It’s nearly a hundred degrees out there today. No AC?” Gable frowned. “Gloria, roommate conflicts should be resolved through communication first. Single room approvals don’t just go through in a single day.” A soft, sorrowful voice echoed from the doorway. “Dean, it isn’t a conflict. It’s a spiritual discipline.” Sienna stood by the door, clutching our dorm’s thermostat key tightly to her chest. She wore a faded, scratchy linen dress, her forehead dripping with sweat, her eyes red and puffy as if she were the victim of some unspeakable cruelty. “She wants to bleed the planet dry.” The student assistant’s hand froze mid-wipe. Gable eyed the key in Sienna’s hand. “Why do you have the thermostat key?” Sienna instantly pressed it closer to her heart, guarding it like a sacred relic. “This machine is monstrous. Every breath of artificial cold it spews drafts a death warrant for our rivers and forests.” “Mother Nature is crying.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy. But I just want to stop our world from being poisoned by modern industrialism.” A few passing freshmen had gathered outside the doorway. Someone whispered, “It’s a bit extreme, but her intentions are good.” Others glanced at me, their gazes shifting. That familiar, suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. It was the exact same script from my previous life. The moment Sienna cried and invoked her grand eco-narrative, everyone lined up to pity her. When I mentioned my heart condition, they called me high-maintenance. When she unplugged the fans, they claimed natural air was healthier anyway. When she turned our room into a sauna, they praised her boundless empathy. In the end, as I lay on a hospital bed hooked up to a ventilator, unable to speak, they were still debating whether I lacked social responsibility. This time, I didn’t waste my breath explaining. I looked straight at Gable. “Dean, I have no interest in debating her beliefs.” “I just refuse to live with her.” Sienna’s sobbing faltered. She looked up, tears clinging to her lashes. “Gloria, are you really that addicted to material comfort?” “I have a heart condition,” I replied flatly. She looked thoroughly devastated by my lack of enlightenment, taking a step back with deep sorrow in her eyes. “But children in impoverished regions don’t even have electricity, and they survive. Why can’t you try?” I flipped my medical folder open, pointing to the bolded doctor’s orders: Avoid extreme heat and high-stress situations. “Because I’d like to survive too.” The room went completely quiet. Gable scanned the medical report, her brow furrowing as her expression grew serious. “A single room requires checking vacancies, and we need approval from both the department head and housing services.” Sienna quickly sniffled, stepping forward. “Dean, there’s no need to go to all that trouble.” “I will do my best to guide Gloria with love. Once she experiences the joy of detoxifying through sweat, nature will heal her heart.” I looked at her cold. “I don’t need nature to heal me.” “And I certainly don’t need your guidance.” 2 The request wasn’t approved on the spot. Gable said she had to contact housing to verify empty beds and submit the paperwork. Hearing the word “paperwork,” Sienna wept even harder. “Please don’t involve the university board. They’ll just think I’m making trouble again.” A student outside softened. “Dean, maybe they should just go back and talk it out.” “Yeah, it’s just a few days. They’ll figure it out once they settle in.” Gable looked at me. It wasn’t a look of bias, but of sheer exhaustion with the bureaucratic process. University administration was slow, but moral lynching was lightning-fast. Sienna knew exactly how to play this. She held the key, her voice carrying perfectly down the hallway. “Gloria, I just want you to shed your materialistic greed.” “The glaciers are melting, and polar bears have nowhere to stand.” “If we can’t even endure a little heat, how much longer can the earth survive?” In my past life, those words made me back down. I had thought it was bad form to start the semester with a massive scene, so I followed her back to the room. That night, she locked up the thermostat, unplugged the fans, and told us to listen to the summer cicadas. I was suffocating by 4:00 AM, my heart hammering like a trapped bird, my breathing sounding like a broken bellows. When I reached for my emergency beta-blockers, she cried that Western medicine was full of synthetic toxins that would disrupt my body’s natural aura. In the end, I was on my knees, gasping for air, clutching the bedframe as my vision faded into black. This time, I laid my phone on the desk and tapped record. “Dean, I’m happy to wait for the system.” “But until the single room is approved, I am not sleeping in that dorm. If the school cannot provide temporary lodging, I require a written statement.” “A statement acknowledging that I submitted severe cardiac medical records, and that the university is forcing me to stay in a room where someone has illegally cut the power and refused basic ventilation.” The office went dead silent again. Sienna stopped crying. The way she looked at me was no longer sorrowful; it was the look of a judge condemning a hopeless sinner. Gable remained silent for a few seconds before picking up her desk phone to call the dorm warden. “Davenport Hall, Suite 503. Send someone up immediately.” “A student is reporting that a roommate has restricted AC and fan usage.” A pause as the voice on the other end replied. Gable’s face darkened. “No, I am not joking. One of the residents has a severe heart condition. She cannot be exposed to extreme heat.” Sienna lunged toward me. “Why do you have to make such a big deal out of this?” she hissed, her voice dripping with self-righteous misery. “We could have walked this path of discipline together!” Outside the door, several students raised their phones, recording us. I took a step back. “Get away from me. The smell of your sweat is making me nauseous.” Sienna bit her lip, fresh tears spilling over instantly. “This is the scent of nature! How can you insult me like that?” Weeping loudly, she turned and bolted back toward the dorms. Gable closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, before grabbing her keys. “Let’s go. Davenport 503.” When we reached the suite, the door was half-open. The sound of our other roommate, Tess, sobbing hysterically echoed down the corridor. Gable pushed the door open. A blast of stifling, suffocating air hit us, carrying a bizarre, sour stench. Sienna stood beneath the AC unit, holding a pair of heavy-duty scissors. On the floor lay the cleanly severed power cord of the AC unit. She held her head high, looking like a martyr standing before the flames. “Since the key wasn’t enough to make you understand, I’ve removed the temptation of luxury entirely.” Tess was collapsed on the floor, clutching a small, dead portable mini-fridge to her chest. Inside were several vials of imported insulin, already turning cloudy and useless from the rapid heat. Tess shook with pure rage, pointing a trembling finger at Sienna. “Are you insane?! You unplugged my medical fridge! That was my entire semester’s worth of insulin!” Sienna looked at the ruined medicine with nothing but serene pity. “Tess, such expensive synthetic drugs are a luxury.” “The elderly in remote villages survive diseases through sheer willpower. Material goods cannot bring true health. Why won’t you let your body heal itself naturally?” Tess’s face drained of color. “I have Type 1 diabetes! I will literally die without insulin!” Sienna sighed, shaking her head. “That’s only because you’re coddled by modern medicine. Mother Nature will grant us…” “Mother Nature can go screw herself!” Tess scrambled to her feet, grabbed a heavy textbook from her desk, and hurled it straight at Sienna’s head. Sienna shrieked, ducking behind Gable. “Dean! She’s getting violent! The synthetic poisons have warped her mind!” 3 The dorm warden and the maintenance technician arrived shortly after. The moment the door opened, the heat forced them to take a step back. It was 2:00 PM. The outside temperature was pushing a hundred degrees. The windows were wide open, letting in waves of scorching air. Worse, the dorm floor was slick with dirty, stagnant water. The combination of extreme heat and standing water turned the room into a literal steam bath. The warden’s face twisted in disgust. “Where did all this water come from? Did a pipe burst?” Sienna peeked out from behind Gable, looking entirely innocent. “No, ma’am. I brought that water up from the campus lake.” “I read online that splashing water on the floor cools a room through evaporation. It’s ancient ecological wisdom. Plus, natural water carries natural energy.” The technician stared at the foul-smelling lake water, holding back his temper with visible effort. “Kid, the ancients lived in open-air stone pavilions. This is a sealed brick dormitory!” “Pouring stagnant pond water in this heat just sends the humidity through the roof. Anyone staying in here is going to get heatstroke!” Sienna pouted. “Sir, don’t let modern science blind you. Ancient wisdom is never wrong.” Some students in the hall murmured. Seeing her standing there with such righteous conviction, someone whispered, “It’s bizarre… but she really did it to try and cool the room down.” “Yeah, she’s clearly not playing with a full deck, but her heart’s in the right place.” “She was just trying to help.” Just then, our fourth roommate, Brooke, walked in from the balcony. Her neck was covered in angry red heat rashes, her energy entirely sapped by the humidity. She looked at the ruined insulin, then at the sweat-drenched Sienna, and sighed. “Tess, Gloria, let’s just drop it.” “Sienna came from a really remote rural town; maybe she just doesn’t understand. She was just trying to help us unplug from materialism. She spent all morning dripping sweat writing out environmental quotes for us.” “Let’s all just take a step back, do a good deed, and bear with it.” There it was. She was just trying to help. In my past life, that single, casual phrase had served as a shield for every bit of fatal damage she inflicted. Sienna’s eyes welled with tears of gratitude as she looked at Brooke. “Thank you, Brooke. Thank you for understanding. I just want to rescue everyone from the abyss of consumerism.” I locked eyes with Brooke. “She cut the AC cord, destroyed Tess’s life-saving medicine, and locked someone with a heart condition in a hundred-degree steam room.” “And you call that trying to help?” Brooke flinched under my gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But look at her… do you want to push her over the edge?” Before I could respond, Sienna stepped forward, pulling a dirty rag pouch from her pocket and opening it with trembling hands. Inside was a small pile of crumpled ones and quarters. “Tess, Gloria, I know you’re used to luxury.” “This is thirty dollars I saved from recycling plastic bottles. I’m giving it to you. Go buy some processed ice pops to cool down, just please stop hating me.” She held the money out with both hands, tears dropping onto the dirty bills. With her faded dress and tearful eyes, she looked like a helpless orphan being bullied by wealthy aristocrats. The tide in the hallway turned instantly. “Oh, come on. She gave them her recycling money. Is it really that deep?” “It’s just a little warm. College girls these days are way too fragile.” “Forgive and forget. No need to crucify her.” Tess stared at the thirty dollars, shaking with silent fury, tears of humiliation spilling over as the weight of the crowd’s judgment choked out any words she had. Gable barked at the crowd to disperse, then turned to Sienna. “Sienna, destroying university property and damaging a peer’s critical medical supplies cannot be resolved with thirty dollars. My office. Now.” Sienna clutched her thirty dollars like a martyr carrying her cross, looking back at me with a mix of pity and a bizarre, fanatical zeal as she followed Gable out. 4 Predictably, by that evening, the university’s anonymous confession board was on fire. A post titled Pure-hearted scholarship student bullied by materialistic roommates for trying to save electricity was pinned to the top. It featured three strategically cropped photos. The first showed Sienna writing environmental slogans under the dim glow of a single desk lamp, drenched in sweat. The second was a profile shot of her crying in the hallway, holding out her crumpled bills. The third was of me, standing with my arms crossed, looking cold and unyielding—the perfect portrait of a wealthy, arrogant bully. The caption was pure bait: What is wrong with this world? Someone tries to practice eco-discipline during a heatwave, and her spoiled roommates force her to her knees to pay them back. Do poor people with principles not deserve to go to college? The comment section was a feeding frenzy. The girl with her arms crossed looks like a massive snob. It’s literally just AC. I grew up without fans and I’m fine. Kids today are brainwashed by corporate comfort. My heart breaks for this girl. The way she held out those crumpled bills made me tear up. Expose these spoiled brats. Let’s make sure everyone avoids them. Brooke handed me her phone, looking uncomfortable. “Gloria, look… things are getting out of hand. Maybe you and Tess should just forgive her. Just post a statement on the board, otherwise how are we going to face our classmates?” I stared at the misleading photo. My chest tightened, and my heart rate began to climb erratically. In my past life, this online harassment had destroyed me. I had posted my medical reports, the severed cord, Tess’s ruined insulin. Nobody cared. They only wanted to believe the narrative of the pure, impoverished eco-martyr. I took a deep breath, pushing the phone back. “She posted lies to ruin my reputation. Why should I be the one to apologize?” Gable had arranged for me to sleep temporarily on a spare cot in the warden’s ground-floor office. “Maintenance can’t fix the wiring until tomorrow. Sleep here tonight; there’s a fan. I’ll push the single room paperwork first thing in the morning.” The office only had an old ceiling fan that creaked rhythmically, blowing warm air, but it was paradise compared to the steam room upstairs. At 2:00 AM, just as I was drifting into a light sleep, a sharp, chemical stench assaulted my nose. It smelled like cheap, synthetic temple incense mixed with thick, dirty smoke. I choked, coughing violently as my heart rate spiked to 120. I couldn’t draw a breath. I struggled to open my eyes. Under the faint glow of the hallway light, I saw a figure standing by my cot. It was Sienna. She was holding a metal mug, packed with seven or eight smoldering incense coils, fanning the thick, grey smoke directly into my face. “What… what are you doing?” I gasped, clutching my chest. Sienna looked down at me, her expression terrifyingly serene. “Gloria, Brooke told me your heart was acting up. Your heart is racing because your mind is cluttered with modern anxiety and industrial poison.” “This is sacred meditation incense. Breathe it in. Let the primal smoke cleanse you. Once your mind is still, your heart will heal.” The thick smoke trapped in the unventilated office was suffocating. The sweltering heat, the toxic chemical fragrance, and the rapid loss of oxygen squeezed my chest like a vice. “Get… get out…” I reached out to knock the mug away. Sienna grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, her eyes wide and manic. “Don’t reject the earth’s medicine, Gloria! Breathe! Expel the industrial toxins!” My vision went black, a tearing pain ripping through my chest. With the last ounce of my strength, I grabbed my phone from under the pillow and squeezed the emergency SOS side buttons. The mug shattered on the floor as I collapsed onto the cot. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Sienna’s panicked, self-righteous shriek. “Gloria! Why would you rather faint than accept nature’s baptism?!”

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1 Just out of the clinic, my body still trembling from anesthesia, my phone buzzed. Someone tagged my husband Hugo in our main group chat. “Congratulations, Hugo! You’re finally a dad!” I froze, my mind struggling to process the words. Another notification popped up from Nora, my supposed best friend. “Thank you, everyone! We’ll have you over for drinks once we’re settled.” The chat flooded with messages from mutual friends congratulating them. “She got her happy ending.” “Five years in the shadows couldn’t have been easy.” “Hugo finally gave you his name.” I scrolled down, my eyes burning as I read each message. Then Vivian, my mother-in-law, posted a family portrait of Hugo, Nora, herself, and a newborn. I was completely missing. Sitting in the sterile hospital corridor, my lower abdomen throbbed with heavy pain. My fingers shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. Hugo and I had been married for eight years. He always said he didn’t want children, so I endured procedure after procedure to respect his wishes. But he didn’t refuse fatherhood. He refused it with me. His mother knew. Our friends knew. They kept the secret while celebrating behind my back. I looked at my crumpled discharge papers, then tapped the photo. I zoomed in on Hugo’s smiling face, then out, then in again. A suffocating weight pressed on my chest. Finally, I typed a single message. “Congratulations. Consider my eight years of marriage my gift to your child.” … The moment my message sent, the chat went dead silent. Then, one by one, the messages started disappearing. Deleted. Unsent. Someone quickly muttered something about posting in the wrong group. Others started chiming in with soft lectures, telling me that today was a celebration for the baby and that I shouldn’t ruin the mood. They told me to handle my private drama later, rather than making a scene. I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. I had just walked out of surgery. The baby in my womb had been gone for barely a few hours. Yet here they were, teaching me how to be polite and telling me not to rain on another child’s parade. It turned out that in my eight years of marriage, even my grief had to wait for a convenient time. Before long, a notification flashed on the screen. I had been removed from the group. A second later, Hugo’s name lit up my phone. “Is the procedure over? How are you feeling?” His voice was steady and calm, wrapping me in that same familiar warmth he always used. Just like every other time. If I hadn’t seen that portrait just minutes ago, I probably would have believed he actually cared. “I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t take what they said in the chat seriously. They were just messing around.” He sighed, his voice smooth. “Nora did have a baby, but it has nothing to do with me. My mom just went over to help, and they forced us into that photo.” I leaned my head back against the cold plastic chair, listening to him spin his lies, thread by thread. My heart was too tired to even break. “Allie? Are you there?” “I’m tired,” I whispered. “I just got out of surgery. I don’t want to talk.” He let out a breath, a sound of pure relief. “Go home and rest, okay? Don’t overthink things. I have a dinner meeting tonight, so I might be late. There’s soup on the stove, make sure you heat it up.” He had done this after every single miscarriage and procedure. He would remind me to take my pills, tell me to stay away from cold water, and tuck me into bed, playing the part of the perfect, doting husband. After the call ended, I sat in the quiet hallway for a long time. The cramping in my abdomen grew sharper, a dull, heavy ache dragging me down. I looked down at the crumpled discharge paper in my hand. The first time I got pregnant, I was ecstatic. I ran to Hugo with the positive test, but he only stared at it in silence. Then he held me tight and said his startup was still too fragile, and we couldn’t afford a distraction. The second time, he said it was a critical year for his career. The third time, his mother held my hand, pleading with me. She said I was young, that there would be other babies, but right now, Hugo needed a stable home so he could build his business. After that, whenever Hugo frowned, I would quietly book the appointment myself. I honestly believed we were making those sacrifices together. But we weren’t. He just didn’t want a child with me. I opened Instagram and scrolled through my feed. Someone had posted a story from the baby shower, complete with a location tag. Cove Haven. Our house. Last year, for our eighth anniversary, he had pressed the keys into my palm and promised me this house would be our fresh start, a sanctuary just for the two of us. I had stayed awake all night, giddy with joy, secretly planning the colors for a nursery. And now, another woman and her baby were living in that sanctuary. While I sat like a ghost in a hospital hallway, watching everyone celebrate their perfect life, I stared at the address and ordered a ride. “Cove Haven, please.” Outside, the city lights blurred into long, distorted streaks, but all I could see was Nora’s face. She had helped me choose my wedding dress. She had helped me pick out my rings. She had driven me to the clinic, holding my hand after every procedure, always the first one waiting for me outside the recovery room. How could she be the one to plunge the knife into my back? When the car pulled up, the house was glowing with light. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft cooing of a baby drifted through the windows. It felt like a mockery of my entire life. I pushed the door open. The living room was a sea of pastel pink. A massive backdrop for the baby shower blocked half the wall, pushing our wedding portrait to the very edge, hidden behind a stack of presents. Only a tiny corner of our smiling faces was visible. Just like me, squeezed out of my own life until only a pathetic trace remained. The room was packed. In the center of the crowd stood Nora, cradling a baby. She was wearing the brand-new silk dress I had bought last week, the one that was supposed to be sitting in my closet. Hugo stood right beside her, looking down at the baby with a smile so tender it burned my eyes. The truth hit me like a physical blow. No one had intruded on my marriage. They had all simply agreed that I was already gone. The laughter died instantly when they saw me. His mother, Vivian, was the first to scowl. “What are you doing here?” I almost laughed. This was my house, and my presence was treated as an intrusion. A mutual friend tried to play peacemaker, murmuring that they were just visiting the baby and that I shouldn’t overthink things. Don’t overthink things. I pulled the clinic papers from my bag, walked over to the gift table, and set them down. The white medical sheet stood out like a shroud among the pink gift boxes. “Keep going,” I said, looking around the room. “Why did everyone stop talking?” Hugo’s face darkened. He stepped in front of me, his voice a low, warning hiss. “Allie, don’t do this here.” I looked at him, wondering where he found the nerve to say those words. “I just lost a baby today,” I said softly, my voice carrying in the quiet room. “I walked out of the clinic to find a group chat congratulating you on becoming a father. And you’re telling me I’m the one making a scene?” The air turned ice-cold. I looked at the bundle in Nora’s arms. “That’s yours, isn’t it?” Nora clutched the baby tighter, her eyes immediately welling with tears. But before she could speak, someone else spoke up for her, claiming the baby was innocent, and that bringing medical papers to a baby shower was bad luck. Someone even muttered that after so many years of marriage, it was natural for things to fade, and that Nora had had a hard time raising the baby alone. A numb sensation spread through my chest. They all knew. They knew about Nora and Hugo. They knew whose baby it was. They knew about every single surgery I had endured, yet not a single person had warned me. They had just stood on the sidelines, watching me clear the path for someone else. Nora looked at me, her chin trembling. “Allie, I know you hate me. But I swear, I never wanted to take anything from you.” I stared at her. “You never wanted to?” “I just… I loved him too much,” she sobbed, a tear slipping down her cheek. “When I got pregnant, I couldn’t bring myself to end it. I’ve never asked him for anything. I just wanted my baby to have a peaceful life.” I looked at the baby, then at her. It was absurd. She was living in my house, wearing my clothes, hosting a party in my living room, and she claimed she had never asked for anything. Vivian stepped forward, her face twisted in annoyance. “That’s enough, Allie. You couldn’t even keep a pregnancy. Are we supposed to let the family line die out because of you?” I froze, the cruelty of her words sinking deep. But she was just getting started. “Nora gave this family an heir. She’s the one who deserves respect. You’re still the legal wife. If you play your cards right, you can keep your title.” Standing in that room, I felt a bone-deep chill. To them, I wasn’t a wife, a daughter-in-law, or a friend. I was just a piece of furniture that was expected to be quiet, accommodating, and blind. I looked down at the wedding band on my left hand. Eight years, and the metal was scratched and worn. I had always believed that as long as this ring was on my finger, my marriage was real. But I had been clinging to a useless piece of scrap metal. I slowly slid the ring off and placed it next to the clinic papers. “Hugo,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m done.” Silence fell over the room. A flicker of panic finally crossed his face, his jaw tightening. “Do you even know what you’re saying?” “I do.” Nora took a frantic step forward. “Allie, please. Blame me, hate me, but don’t divorce him. He’s had it so hard. He’s been caught in the middle for years…” “Shut up.” She gasped, freezing in her tracks. I looked at her, my voice quiet but sharp enough to cut. “You knew exactly how much pain I was in. But you still crawled into my husband’s bed and had his child. Now you stand here playing the victim, acting so delicate and wronged. Nora, doesn’t it make you sick?” Her face drained of color, and she took a step back. Hugo instantly stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. “That’s enough, Allie.” Watching him protect her, the last lingering ember of warmth in my heart died out. He did know how to protect someone. He had just never done it for me. I turned and walked toward the door. “If you leave him, what do you think you’ll have left?” Vivian’s cold voice threw itself at my back. I didn’t stop. “At least I won’t be covered in your filth.” I had barely reached the elevator when Hugo caught up to me. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the empty stairwell. “Allie, does everything have to be a scene with you?” I looked down at his hand on my skin and felt a wave of nausea. “Let go of me.” He didn’t. Instead, his brow furrowed with irritation, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “I admit, I lied to you. But it’s not what you think.” The classic excuse. I didn’t even bother to ask. He started babbling about how it was a mistake, how they had both had too much to drink after a corporate dinner, and how he was just trying to get her home safely. A mistake. Men always used that word as if it could wash away the dirt. “Then she got pregnant,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I wanted her to get an abortion, but she refused. The baby was innocent, Allie. I couldn’t force her to do it.” I listened, my heart sinking further into the dark. So when I got pregnant, he could let me go through with it. But when it came to Nora, he couldn’t bear the thought. “And what about me?” I looked at him. “When I begged you to let us keep our babies, how could you bear it then?” His frown deepened. “Your health was always fragile. Getting pregnant over and over would have destroyed you. I did it for your own good, Allie.” For my own good. A hysterical laugh threatened to tear through my throat. “And her?” “She was willing to carry the baby, and she didn’t ask for a marriage,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “I was only trying to minimize the damage.” “I’m not divorcing you,” he added, his voice turning firm. “I’ll give you the house, the money, the status. I’ll keep the baby elsewhere. She won’t interfere with your life. You just need to look the other way, and we can go back to normal.” I stared at him, completely speechless. How hollow did a man have to be to say something like that and think it was a generous offer? “What do you take me for?” I smiled, though my eyes burned with tears. His perfect solution was for me to sit quietly as his wife while he played family with another woman down the road. “You disgust me, Hugo.” His expression darkened, and his tone shifted, colder this time. “Don’t forget your grandmother is still in that care facility.” My chest tightened. “I’ve been paying the bills there for years,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine. “She needs constant care, and she can’t handle any stress. If you really want a divorce, Allie, make sure you can actually afford it first.” I stood there, frozen. My parents had passed away when I was young, and my grandmother was the only family I had left. She was frail, her mind slipping, completely dependent on that specialized facility. And I, to support Hugo, to build our life, to recover from those endless surgeries, had depleted my own savings long ago. He knew that. He was using the only person I loved to break me. “Are you threatening me?” “I’m reminding you of reality,” he said smoothly. “Once you calm down, you’ll see that divorce isn’t your best option.” Just then, the faint cry of a baby drifted from the apartment. Hugo’s head turned instantly, a purely instinctive reaction. I ripped my wrist from his grip, turned, and walked away. When I got back to my apartment, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I curled up on the sofa in the dark. The pain in my abdomen flared up again, sharp and twisting, and the tears finally came. I wasn’t crying for him. I was crying for the sheer waste of it all. Eight years of marriage, reducing myself to a ghost, only to find out I was the punchline of a joke everyone else had been laughing at for years. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next morning, the care facility called. The payment had been declined. I held the phone to my ear, unable to make a sound. He had threatened me yesterday, and today he cut off her care. By the time I reached the care home, my body was aching. But as I approached her room, I froze. Nora was sitting beside my grandmother, cradling her baby and humming softly. Vivian stood nearby, a warm, genuine smile on her face, a smile she had never once given me. And my grandmother, with her faded eyes, was reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek, a gentle smile on her face. My stomach dropped. “What are you doing here?” They all turned to look at me. Vivian spoke first, her tone dripping with irritation. “We came to visit. Is that a crime?” Nora gave me a soft, apologetic smile. “Allie, please don’t be upset. I just thought it would be nice for your grandmother to see the baby. Old people love babies.” I ignored her, walking straight to my grandmother’s side. I knelt down and took her hand. “Gran, I’m here.” It took her a moment to recognize me, but then her face lit up. She pointed a trembling finger at the baby in Nora’s arms. “Whose lovely little girl is that?” “She’s a family baby,” Vivian chimed in quickly. My muscles tensed. My grandmother looked at me, confused. “Do you and Hugo have a baby now, sweetie?” “No, Gran,” I said immediately. “Don’t listen to them.” Nora stepped closer, holding the baby out. “Her name is Sophie, Grandma. The house is going to be so much livelier now.” I looked up at her, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Get away from her.” She ignored me, taking another step forward. My grandmother smiled at the baby, her eyes softening. She didn’t know that I had been pregnant too. That I had carried life, only for those lives to be quietly erased. Vivian folded her arms, letting out a heavy sigh. “The family finally has an heir. A man works himself to the bone out there to build a legacy for his children, after all.” I stood up abruptly. “Get out.” My grandmother gasped, her hand trembling in mine. “Allie, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” I tried to soothe her, but Nora wouldn’t stop. She stood there with her red eyes, looking fragile and generous. “A woman without children has nothing to hold onto in the end, Allie. I was only trying to help you see that.” I turned to face her. “Say another word.” Her eyes welled with tears, looking as if she might collapse. “Did I say something wrong?” Vivian sneered. “She didn’t say a single lie. You couldn’t produce an heir, so you have no right to stop someone else from doing it.” My grandmother’s memory was failing, but she could sense the hostility. Her breathing grew rapid, her grip tightening on my fingers. “Allie, tell me what’s going on. Who are these people?” I reached out to calm her, but Nora pulled out her phone, tapping on the family portrait and holding it in front of my grandmother’s face. “Grandma, we just want you to know that Hugo is happy now. We aren’t trying to hide.” My grandmother stared at the photo, and the color drained from her face. Her hands shook violently, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked gasps. “This… you… how could you!” A warning alarm went off in my head. I spun around to hit the emergency call button, but Vivian stepped in front of me, blocking the wall. “What are you panicking for? She had to find out eventually!” “Move!” I shoved her aside. “Can’t you see she can’t breathe!” In the chaos, Nora stood back, clutching the baby and whimpering that she shouldn’t have to hide. My vision blurred as I scrambled to reach the call button. Just then, the baby began to cry. Nora screamed, “Allie, don’t touch my baby!” In that exact second, Hugo burst through the door. He walked in to see Nora cowering with a crying baby, his mother struggling with me, and my grandmother gasping for air in her wheelchair. He didn’t ask a single question. His first instinct was to pull Nora and the baby behind him, while I threw myself over my grandmother. The medical staff rushed in, wheeling her straight into the ICU. I stood outside the doors, my entire body shaking. But when Hugo walked up to me, the first words out of his mouth were: “Allie, when is this drama going to end?” I stared at him, numb. Nora stood behind him, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to bring the baby to see her… but she lost her temper and almost hit Sophie…” Vivian backed her up, claiming I had lost my mind and tried to hurt the child. I couldn’t even find the words to argue. Soon, the doctor came out. He said they had stabilized her, but the stress had taken a severe toll on her heart. She was fragile, and any further shock could be fatal. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself against the wall. That evening, I went back to the house to pack up my documents. When I opened the bedroom door, I froze. My room had been completely dismantled, turned into a nursery. And in the corner of the balcony, tossed aside like trash, was an old wooden chest. It was the only thing my mother had left me. Inside were her old photographs, her letters, and the tiny baby clothes I had secretly bought over the years. After every miscarriage, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, so I had locked them inside that chest. But now, the lock was broken, and my memories were scattered across the concrete. I knelt down, my hands shaking as I gathered the papers and the tiny clothes. Nora stood at the balcony door, holding her baby, looking down at me. “Those dead things shouldn’t be taking up space anyway,” she said softly. The world went completely quiet. I stood up, holding the chest, and walked toward her. “Say that again.” She took a step back, but her voice remained sweet. “We all have to move on…” I lunged at her. But she saw something over my shoulder, screamed, and shoved the baby into the nearby stroller.

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My boyfriend was drowning in depression. Between his prescription meds and private specialists, his treatment was costing thousands of dollars a month. To keep him afloat, I practically lived on caffeine, taking on endless freelance art commissions and delivering food day and night. My friends begged me to slow down, constantly warning me that I was going to work myself into an early grave. Then came the afternoon I accepted a high-end delivery heading to an exclusive, gated neighborhood. I stood at the entrance of a massive, sprawling estate, politely holding out a three-thousand-dollar luxury sushi order with both hands. But when I looked up, my heart stopped. Standing right there in the grand doorway, looking back at me in absolute shock, was my boyfriend. The exact same man who was supposed to be in a critical therapy session at that very moment. 1 “Aren’t you supposed to be at the clinic, Stephen?” I stared at the sprawling, ultra-modern mansion. The cardboard box of high-end sushi in my hands felt like ice, my fingers aching from how hard I gripped it. Even though the summer heat was pushing a brutal hundred degrees, I shivered as if I had been dropped into an arctic winter. A place like this was something I had only ever seen in movies. “Audrey, I’m sorry. Let me explain. Dr. Lewis had an emergency this afternoon…” “I just came over to hang out with a friend.” Caught red-handed, Stephen lost his usual composure. He reached out, frantically grabbing my sleeve. It was his signature move whenever he apologized, a gesture that had worked a thousand times before. But today, the magic was gone. I coldly slapped his hand away. The designer shirt he wore bore a logo I couldn’t even name, but the irony was loud and clear. It fit him perfectly, highlighting the wealthy heir he actually was, far better than the cheap, faded hoodies he wore around me. I looked down, opening the Silveridge Hospital portal on my phone to check Dr. Lewis’s schedule. When I saw that the psychiatrist still had plenty of open slots for the day, I didn’t even have the energy to call out his lie. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I forced my voice to stay level and cold. “Is this fun for you, Stephen?” “Playing the tragic, broke boy who couldn’t even afford a five-dollar coffee… when in reality, you’re a trust-fund prince who spends three thousand dollars on a single lunch?” My lips trembled. I stared at him, barely realizing that my eyes were already swimming with tears. “You really… you treated me like a complete idiot.” “Three thousand dollars. Do you have any idea how many deliveries that is? That is six hundred deliveries. That’s two months of sleepless nights for me.” The ultimate joke was my lock screen. The last text I had sent him, barely thirty minutes ago, was still open. I had told him I was going to make his favorite potato soup tonight to celebrate, because the customer in the wealthy gated community had been incredibly generous, leaving a fifteen-dollar tip. I never could have guessed that the generous tipper was my own boyfriend. 2 Stephen used to hold me close in the middle of the night, whispering that I was the only person in the world whose love he never doubted. He said even his own parents didn’t love him as purely as I did. Back then, those whispered sweet nothings made me feel like the luckiest girl alive, happy to have found something real in a world full of superficiality. But looking back, it was just pathetic. Of course nobody else would be stupid enough to ride a bicycle through a blinding heatwave for a measly two-dollar high-temperature bonus, desperately trying to scrape together enough cash for his monthly therapy bills. “I haven’t slept more than five hours a night in months. Every single day, I prayed for you to get better.” “You knew all of this, didn’t you?” My voice cracked, thick with tears. The calm, apologetic mask on Stephen’s face began to fracture. His eyes reddened, and he gave a slow, painful nod. In that cramped, moldy studio apartment we shared, where we had to walk thirty minutes just to reach the nearest subway station, he had watched me struggle. He watched me pinch pennies, skipping meals to save a dollar. He watched me drown in exhaustion, working myself to the bone to pay for his imaginary treatment, all while he watched from above like a god playing a simulation. “I’ll transfer some money to your account,” he muttered, looking down. “As compensation.” “I really am sorry, Audrey.” He stood there, head bowed, a mix of guilt and helplessness in his eyes. Realizing there was no lie left to save him, he gave up. My fingers stiffened around the crumpled receipt in my pocket. It was nearly a foot long, detailing the rarest, most expensive cuts of wagyu and sashimi. I rolled it into a tight ball and threw it at his face with every ounce of strength I had left. Stephen didn’t flinch. His expression was a heavy, suffocating mix of sorrow and regret. The cool draft from the air-conditioned mansion drifted out into the summer air. Under the loud hum of the cicadas, light footsteps approached the grand entrance. Then, a girl’s whiny, pampered voice cut through the silence. “Stephen? Where’s the food? I’m literally starving in here!” 3 The silence between Stephen and me shattered. His expression tightened. We both turned toward the door just as a young girl in a silk slip dress walked out. Stephen panicked, stepping in front of her to block her path. “Why did you come out? Go back inside. I’ll be right in, babe.” But the girl had no intention of going back. She sidestepped him, her gaze landing on me. Her eyes, beautiful but sharp, carried a chillingly familiar look of condescension. “Who is this?” she asked. Neither of us answered. Seeing our silence, a slow, malicious smile spread across her lips. She casually wrapped her arm around Stephen’s, pulling her low-cut pastel slip dress slightly lower, exposing the faint red marks on her collarbone and the soft curves beneath the silk. She leaned her entire weight against him, completely relaxed. Stephen’s anxious gaze darted to me, terrified of my reaction. I turned my head away, closing my eyes. My sweat-soaked hair clung to my cheeks, and a sharp, throbbing headache pulsed behind my temples. I didn’t need to be a genius to know exactly what had happened in that house. I had thought I was just the unlucky victim of a rich boy’s poverty simulation. But it turned out I was also the entertainment in a wealthy couple’s twisted love story. It was sickening. I didn’t want to waste another second here. I turned around to grab my delivery bag, ready to leave. But the girl called out to me, her voice dripping with amusement. “Wait. Are you that charity-case girlfriend Stephen’s been playing with off-campus?” “I didn’t recognize you in that delivery uniform. You’re Audrey from the literature department, aren’t you?” 4 I stopped and turned back to look at her. After a long, agonizing thirty seconds, the pieces clicked. Sienna. She was a senior, a wealthy, popular girl who was always surrounded by a crowd of sycophants. But we had history. The year before, she had used her family’s influence to steal my financial aid scholarship and give it to one of her friends. Because of that, I had never bowed down to her like everyone else did. Seeing the dark, silent anger in my eyes, Sienna tightened her grip on Stephen’s arm. She let out a delighted, high-pitched giggle. “Stephen, I can’t believe you actually did it. Last year, I casually complained to you about how much I hated this self-righteous girl in my department.” “You asked a few questions, and then you actually went out and broke her. I have to hand it to you, babe. This is brilliant.” Sienna looked up at me, her eyes gleaming with malice. “You managed to turn the department’s star student into a literal dog, running around at your beck and call.” I slowly clenched my fists. The cold air from the doorway washed over my sweaty skin, but it brought no relief. To people like them, the dreams, the sweat, the tears, and the very lives of ordinary people were just weeds on the side of the road. Not only did they ignore us, but they also took pleasure in stepping on us and spitting on our misery. Sienna leaned in and kissed Stephen’s cheek, treating me like the punchline of a joke, her eyes flashing with pure triumph. Then, as if remembering something even more delicious, her expression turned manic. “Audrey, sweetie, let me guess. Did Stephen tell you he had severe depression?” My brow furrowed, but I couldn’t deny it. Sienna burst into a fit of laughter, clutching her stomach. But the words that tumbled from her mouth next made my entire world shatter. “That’s because I told him your little brother took his own life because of depression.” “We knew that if Stephen pretended to be depressed, you’d fall for it hook, line, and sinker.” “And look at you. You actually did.” 5 The air went entirely still, the heavy silence broken only by the deafening buzz of the cicadas. My mind snapped. All logic and restraint evaporated. I bit my lower lip until it bled, ripped off my heavy delivery helmet, and swung it with everything I had straight at Stephen’s face. If I let this slide, I might as well give up on living. My chest heaved violently as I screamed at him. “Depression, right? Playing poor, right? You like using my dead brother as a joke?” “You absolute piece of trash! No wonder your parents don’t love you! No wonder your father beats your mother right in front of you! Why didn’t he just beat you to death instead?” “I’ll do him a favor and kill you myself today!” During our year together, whether it was a game to him or a real connection to me, we had shared our deepest vulnerabilities. I knew his darkest secret: the cold neglect of his parents, the abuse he had witnessed, and the hollow ache of never knowing what a real family felt like. And now, those secrets became the weapons I used to rip him apart. Before either of them could react, I swung the helmet again, heavy plastic slamming into his face over and over. I was hyperventilating, my head spinning from weeks of sleep deprivation and pure, unadulterated rage. The second Sienna mentioned my brother, Felix, the fragile wall of sanity I had built shattered into dust. He was the one person in this world no one was allowed to touch. Stephen didn’t even try to defend himself. He just stood there, taking the blows, until Sienna finally screamed and tried to pull me off him. He stumbled back, his hands covered in the blood pouring from his nose and mouth. “Are you okay, Stephen? I’m calling the police!” Sienna cried, her voice shaking with panic. “This crazy bitch is out of her mind! I’ll have my dad destroy her…” Stephen grabbed her wrist, shaking his head weakly. “No. Don’t.” “I… I owe her this.” He wiped the blood from his lip, smoothed back his messy hair, and stepped back toward me. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek gold credit card, and held it out to me. “The PIN is your birthday. I know there’s no fixing this, but… just take it. I’m sorry.” I let out a cold, hollow laugh, staring at him with nothing but pure hatred. “Go die.” I snatched the card from his fingers, turned on my heel, and walked away. 6 There was over a hundred thousand dollars on the card. I called my delivery manager, demanded my final paycheck, and quit on the spot. My tiny, cheap studio apartment felt smaller than ever, easily taken in with a single glance. I had moved out of the dorms with Stephen because he claimed his physical symptoms of depression were getting worse, and he needed me by his side every day. I hadn’t been entirely defenseless when he first entered my life, but seeing him suffer from the exact same illness that had taken my brother made my heart soft. It made me foolish. In my desperation to save him, the lines between my love for him and my crippling guilt over my brother had blurred. I had thrown myself into saving Stephen as if it could somehow rewrite the past and cure my nightmares. I spent hours packing. We had accumulated a lot of things over the year, but looking at the matching mugs, the couple’s watches, and the cheap souvenirs we bought, they only felt like acid in my eyes. I threw them all into the trash. I lay down on the mattress, listening to the loud, rattling hum of the old air conditioner. Free from the endless cycle of delivery shifts, I finally fell into a deep, heavy sleep. In my dreams, I was back in that bathroom. Felix lay in the bathtub, completely pale, surrounded by water stained dark red. He looked like a fragile porcelain doll, cold and silent. An empty pill bottle lay near his limp fingers. His long eyelashes were closed, looking exactly the way they did when he used to doze off while waiting for me to finish studying. Only this time, he would never wake up. He would never open his eyes and ask me when we were going to bed. On his phone, he had deleted every single message and chat history, leaving only a final text to me: “I’m sorry, sis,” along with a bank transfer of five hundred dollars. Everything he had to his name. He had left during the peak of spring, a brilliant boy taken in his prime. And I had been trapped in that spring ever since. 7 The rustling of a plastic trash bag by the door woke me up. A figure in a black shirt was crouching by my garbage can, frantically digging through the trash. “Who’s there?” The figure froze, then slowly turned around. It was Stephen. He was wearing a black face mask, with several white bandages taped over his face where I had hit him. I rubbed my aching temples, realizing I had forgotten he still had a spare key. He had pulled out all the matching rings, cups, and mementos I had thrown away, neatly lining them up on the floor. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, my voice flat. Stephen looked down, hiding his eyes. “I just came to pack up some of my things.” “They’re just cheap trash, Stephen. I didn’t think a billionaire would care.” I sat up on the bed, scanning the room to see if I had left anything important. Once I was done packing, I was planning to move back into the dorms and cancel the lease on this apartment. Stephen held the cheap silver matching ring in his palm, his thumb gently rubbing the band. His voice sounded hollow and distant. “I know you don’t believe me, Audrey. But I really did love you. You were the only person in the world I trusted.” “Nobody has ever loved me the way you did. I didn’t want to lose you.” I let out a soft, mocking chuckle, the scene at the mansion flashing through my mind like a cruel joke. “Love? Is that what you call it? Was it love when you had me deliver a three-thousand-dollar meal to the house where you had just slept with another girl? Should I thank you for the tip?” “Sienna is a mistake! I can explain! Nothing happened between us. I only agreed to date her in the past because she wouldn’t stop asking.” “I wanted to break up with her a long time ago. I finally realized that the only person I truly love is…” “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I cut him off, my voice ice-cold. The bathroom faucet dripped loudly into the plastic bucket below. The plumbing had been leaking for months, and to save on the water bill, I had kept a bucket there to catch the drops. Every penny had mattered to me, and to hear him talk about love now was simply insulting. The moment his lie was exposed, a chasm opened between us, one that no amount of explanations could ever bridge. “Stephen, when you used my dead brother to get close to me, did you ever consider that karma would find you?” “What do you mean?” I didn’t answer. I simply stood up, walked to the door, and opened it, signaling for him to leave. He saw the finality in my eyes, his face falling as he gathered the cheap trinkets into his bag and stood up. “Stop pretending to be depressed,” I said as he reached the door. “Because every time someone like you uses it as a game, the stigma gets worse, and the people who are actually suffering are left in the dark.” People like Felix. Stephen stood silent for a long moment, then slowly nodded. Before he stepped out, he pulled a bag of groceries from behind his back, containing pork ribs and lotus root. He had seen the message I sent him about making his favorite soup. “Can you make me the soup one last time?” “No. Your family’s chef can make it much better.” “I only like yours.” He looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “Audrey, why won’t you give me one more chance?” His voice cracked, thick with tears. I never expected the arrogant heir of Silveridge’s wealthiest family to look so pathetic, begging for my forgiveness. The simulation was over, yet he was still playing the part. I met his gaze with absolute silence. He knew it was over. The hand he had reached out to grab mine slowly fell to his side. At the doorway, he looked back at me, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Do you still love me?” “No.” “Could you ever love me again?” “Never.” 8 After Stephen left, I spent the rest of the night packing the remaining boxes. I was scheduled to move back to the campus dorms next week. Around three in the morning, I sat on the sofa, exhausted. My eyes fell on a small, locked metal box in the corner of the closet. My brother’s things. Felix and I were twins. Our parents had divorced when we were young, and both had quickly started new families. We were treated like a costly mistake of their youth, an inconvenience they both wanted to forget. So, from middle school onward, Felix and I survived on the bare minimum child support they sent, keeping each other alive. My heart ached at the memory. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small jewelry box. It was the last birthday gift Felix had given me, a delicate silver necklace with a star pendant. He had been smiling so brightly when he placed it around my neck. “I saved up to buy this for you, Audrey. Do you like it? It looks so beautiful on you, better than on the model!” “I know it’s not expensive, but I’m going to work hard. One day, I’ll buy you the most beautiful gems in the world.” I had smiled, poking the single dimple on his cheek. “I believe you, Felix. I’ll be waiting.” As I held the jewelry box, I felt something rattling beneath the velvet padding. I pulled it back and found a small key hidden inside. Felix hadn’t given me this key when he first gave me the necklace. He must have slipped it in later. I took the key, walked over to the locked box in the closet, and turned the lock. It clicked open. Inside, there were only four things. A canvas painting of withered sunflowers, a vinyl record from his favorite indie band, a black notebook, and a small slip of paper with a username and password written on it. I picked up the black notebook, resting it on my lap. I turned the pages. The early entries were just ordinary things, complaining about exams or mentioning a girl who had tried to hand him a love letter. It made sense. Felix had always been handsome, with soft features and a quiet, mysterious charm that drew people in. But because we had grown up abandoned, he had always been deeply sensitive and guarded, which was why he kept a journal. When he started college at Silveridge University, his incredible vocals quickly made him the lead singer of the campus band, and he was always surrounded by fans. My heart ached as I read through his memories, but my fingers froze on a page halfway through. Sienna’s name had appeared in the journal. And as I turned the pages, her name appeared more and more frequently.

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1 Locked in a psychiatric hospital for four years after my husband diagnosed me, I returned home to changed locks. I buzzed for ten minutes before a strange woman answered, wearing my silk robe and diamond necklace. She smirked, calling Victor. “Babe, a crazy woman’s here.” Victor approached, eyeing me like a stray dog. “Out? I’ll have the driver take you to a motel.” I ignored him, searching for my daughter. Four-year-old Lucy read in the living room. At my call, she flinched, hiding behind the woman. “Mommy, she’s scary,” she whispered. Victor stepped between us, voice hardening. “Don’t frighten her. Lawyers tomorrow.” Numb, I walked into freezing rain. A nearby billboard flashed a movie trailer. The poster showed me, hair wild, strapped to a bed, screaming. The film, Madwoman, had grossed millions with rave reviews. The director’s credit revealed Victor’s name. Shaking, I dialed a number saved for four years. It rang twice. “You finally called,” a voice said. … “Dominic.” The name tasted like ash and blood as it forced its way past my lips. The line went dead silent for a fraction of a second. Then came the sharp screech of a chair dragging across a floor, followed by hushed whispers in the background. “Kathy?” His voice was deep, thick with sudden tension, traveling across thousands of miles of ocean to strike my eardrums. “It’s me.” I stared blankly at the massive billboard of Madwoman. The woman on the screen looked like a raving lunatic, and Victor’s name underneath felt like a rusted nail driven straight into my skull. “Are you out?” Dominic’s voice wavered, carrying a trace of a tremor. “Yes.” I closed my eyes, letting the freezing rain wash over my face. “Wait for me,” he said, his tone instantly shifting to cold authority. “Three days. I’ll tie up my business here in London and catch the first flight back.” “Okay.” I hung up, and the screen went black. Through the downpour, a black Maybach beeped its horn. It was our driver, Frank. Four years ago, he had treated me with absolute deference. Now, he didn’t even bother to roll his window down all the way, leaving only a tiny crack. “Ma’am, Mr. Creston ordered me to pick you up. He booked a room for you at the budget motel on the south side of town.” A cheap motel. I looked down at my bare ankles, purple from the biting cold, and let out a dry, hollow laugh. I, Kathy Barrett, had brought a massive family fortune into my marriage with Victor. He had used my inheritance to build his entire empire, only to throw me into an asylum for four long years. And now, on my first night of freedom, he expected me to sleep in a fifty-dollar-a-night motel. “No need.” I turned my back on the Maybach and stepped into the rain, hailing a passing taxi. “Take me to the Crestview estate.” Frank kept honking behind me, but I didn’t look back. Thirty minutes later, I stood outside the iron gates of what used to be my home. The main digital lock had been reprogrammed, but I knew that inside the ventilation shaft near the garage lay a physical spare key. It was a failsafe I had hidden during the renovation because I was notoriously forgetful. The lock turned with a heavy click. The heavy wooden door swung open. The living room was dark, save for the flickering orange glow of the fireplace. Sienna’s sweet, high-pitched laughter floated over the back of the sofa. “Victor, is that crazy bitch really gone? What if she comes back with a knife to slit my throat?” Victor’s deep, smooth voice followed, laced with lazy arrogance. “She wouldn’t dare. After all the electroshock therapy she endured at Havenwood, her spine is completely broken.” “But Lucy looked so frightened. I should take her to a child psychologist tomorrow. What if she inherited that crazy woman’s genes?” “Thank you, Sienna. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without you raising Lucy as your own these past four years.” I stood in the shadows of the foyer, looking at the high heels and men’s leather belts discarded carelessly on the floor. My stomach turned. Four years ago, Victor had knelt in the pouring rain, begging me to save his failing company. Eight months pregnant, I sold the last piece of land my mother had left me to clear his debts. In return, he bribed a team of doctors, pumped me full of hallucinogens, and had me dragged into an unmarked van. “If you’re so terrified of my genes, why are you still living in my house?” I stepped out of the shadows, my voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. The two on the sofa bolted upright. Sienna frantically pulled up the slipping silk robe, which happened to be mine. Victor’s face instantly darkened. He grabbed a throw blanket and tossed it over Sienna’s bare legs. “Kathy! Who the hell let you in?” He marched toward me, his eyes filled with the viciousness he would reserve for an armed intruder. “This is my house,” I said, staring him down. “My name is on the deed. Why shouldn’t I be here?” Sienna shrunk behind Victor, her eyes red, trembling like a frightened rabbit. “Kathy, please don’t start acting up. Victor did this for your own good. You just got discharged, and you need a quiet place to heal…” “Shut up.” I reached out and grabbed a porcelain vase resting on the foyer cabinet. It was a rare piece Victor had bid three hundred thousand dollars on at an auction, presenting it to me as a birthday gift. A loud crash echoed through the room. The vase shattered into a million pieces right at Victor’s feet. Shards flew, slicing through the fabric of his trousers. “Who gave you permission to speak to me?” Sienna shrieked, wrapping her arms tightly around Victor’s waist. “Victor! She’s trying to kill us! She’s having another episode!” The door to the second-floor bedroom suddenly opened. Lucy, wearing a pink nightgown, rubbed her eyes and stepped onto the landing. Seeing the chaos below, she burst into tears. “Mommy! I’m scared!” Hearing her call out “Mommy” shattered whatever resolve I had left. “Lucy, come to Mommy.” I dropped the remaining shards and moved toward the stairs. But Lucy stumbled down the steps, bypassing my outstretched arms entirely, and threw herself into Sienna’s embrace. “Mama Sienna, the bad lady is breaking things again! She’s crazy! Get her out of here!” I froze. My hands hovered in the air, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Mama Sienna. The bad lady. Crazy. Sienna pulled Lucy close, stroking her back with maternal tenderness. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mama Sienna is here. No one’s going to hurt you.” Victor turned back to me, the disgust in his eyes practically overflowing. “Kathy, have you had enough? Is this your idea of motherly love? You come back and immediately start terrorizing our child!” “I’m terrorizing her?” I pointed at Sienna, my voice cracking with hysteria. “You brainwashed my daughter to love this woman, you stole my home, and you made a fortune selling videos of my torture! Are you even human, Victor?” I lunged forward, desperate to pry Lucy from Sienna’s arms. “Give me my daughter!” The moment my fingers brushed Lucy’s arm, Victor grabbed my wrist and twisted it with brutal force. A sickening crack echoed, followed by a blinding wave of agony. I gasped, and Victor threw me hard onto the hardwood floor. I landed amid the broken porcelain. Shards sliced deep into my palms and knees, and blood immediately began to seep through my thin hospital uniform. “Daddy is beating the bad guy! Kill the crazy lady!” Lucy cheered, clapping her hands from the safety of Sienna’s arms. My tears mingled with the blood pooling beneath me. Victor looked down at me, pulling a tissue from his pocket to wipe his hands, as if he had touched something vile. “Frank, get in here.” The front door pushed open, and the driver entered with two burly security guards. “Sir.” Victor pointed at my bleeding form on the floor. “Throw this lunatic out. If she ever sets foot on this property again, break her legs and ship her straight back to Havenwood.” 2 The storm raged on. I was dumped like a sack of trash onto the wet asphalt outside the gated community. My wrist hung at a sickening, twisted angle. Blood from my knees mingled with the rain, creating a crimson stream on the pavement. “You should face reality, ma’am.” Frank stood over me, holding a black umbrella, his eyes filled with cold pity. “Mr. Creston is worth billions now, and Ms. Sienna is pregnant with their second child. A certified lunatic like you stands no chance against them.” Their second child. Those words hit me like a physical blow. They were having another child. I lay in the puddle, watching the Maybach’s taillights disappear into the dark. The pain was overwhelming, and my vision began to blur. During my four years at Havenwood, they had injected me with heavy doses of chlorpromazine every week just to make me look like a real psycho. The drugs had wrecked my nervous system, leaving me barely able to stand. I lay in the rain all night. At dawn, a street sweeper found me. The kind woman helped me to a nearby bus shelter and called an ambulance. In the emergency room, the doctor reset my dislocated wrist and picked the porcelain shards out of my knees. “Where is your family? How did you end up like this?” the doctor asked, frowning. “They’re dead,” I whispered, staring at the sterile white ceiling. After my wounds were bandaged, I checked my bank account. I still had the emergency fund Dominic had forced me to take four years ago. I checked into a quiet, low-key hotel, changed into clean clothes, and bought a baseball cap and a face mask. Today was the parent-child sports day at St. Mary’s Prep, the prestigious academy Lucy attended. For four years, the memory of my daughter’s face was the only thing that kept me sane in that hellhole. I couldn’t leave her with those monsters. Outside St. Mary’s, luxury cars lined the streets. I blended into the crowd of parents, peering through the iron gates. I spotted Victor and Sienna instantly. They were wearing matching custom designer outfits, and Sienna was smiling brightly, holding Lucy’s hand. A group of wealthy mothers surrounded Sienna, showering her with compliments. “Sienna, you look absolutely radiant! This baby must be a boy.” “And Lucy is so well-behaved. You’ve done a wonderful job raising her, unlike her previous…” “Shh, keep it down. I heard that woman was eating filth in Havenwood. How disgusting.” Sienna giggled, patting Lucy’s head. “Please, don’t say that. Kathy is a tragic soul. But for Lucy’s sake, Victor and I had to make the hard choice.” I stood behind a tree, my nails digging deep into my palms. Sienna was living in my house, sleeping in my bed, raising my daughter, and basking in the glory built on my suffering. The events began. The first was the three-legged race. Victor stepped aside to take a call. Sienna pulled Lucy to the starting line and knelt to tie the ribbon around their ankles. Thinking no one was watching, Sienna suddenly pinched the inside of Lucy’s thigh with brutal force. “Ow!” Lucy cried out, tears instantly welling in her eyes. “Stop crying! Hold it in!” Sienna’s sweet expression vanished, replaced by a snarling whisper. “If it weren’t for playing the perfect mother in front of your father, do you think I’d touch a useless brat like you? Run fast. If we lose, you’re sleeping in the dark closet tonight!” Lucy trembled, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Something inside me snapped. To hell with waiting. To hell with being cautious. I shoved through the crowd, kicked open the side gate, and charged onto the field. “Sienna, I will kill you!” I tackled her to the ground, grabbing a handful of her hair, and began raining slaps down on her face. Slap! Slap! Slap! Her lip split, blood smearing her face. “You dare hurt my daughter! You wretched snake!” The teachers and parents were too stunned to react. “Help! The crazy woman is killing me! Victor, save me!” Sienna screamed, trying to protect her stomach. “Kathy! Stop!” Victor’s roar echoed across the field. Before I could strike again, a powerful grip yanked me back by my collar and slammed me onto the track. My head hit the ground hard, and black spots danced across my eyes. Victor rushed to Sienna, checking her frantically. “Sienna, are you okay? The baby?” Sienna clung to him, weeping. “Victor, I’m so scared. She wanted to kill me and our baby…” Victor turned to me, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Kathy, you psychotic bitch! How dare you lay a hand on her!” I struggled to sit up, pointing a trembling finger at Lucy. “Ask her! Ask your precious wife what she did to Lucy! She pinched her! She abuses her when you aren’t looking!” Victor frowned, looking at Lucy. Lucy shrank back, her hand covering her thigh. Sienna immediately pulled Lucy into her arms. “Lucy, sweetheart, Mama Sienna was just tying your shoes, right? Tell Daddy, did Mama Sienna hurt you?” Lucy looked at Sienna’s threatening glare, then at me, covered in dirt and blood. She burst into tears. “No! Mama Sienna didn’t hurt me! It’s the bad lady! She’s crazy, she beat Mama Sienna! Daddy, make her go away!” My heart stopped. It felt as though someone had ripped it from my chest and crushed it underfoot. “Lucy… I’m your mommy…” Victor kicked my hand away. “You heard her. Even a child knows you’re insane.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Yes, police? We have an emergency at St. Mary’s Prep. A mentally unstable woman just assaulted a pregnant woman. Yes, she was recently discharged from Havenwood. She’s highly violent. Send officers immediately.” He hung up and looked down at me with a cruel smirk. “I gave you a chance, Kathy. Since you love being crazy so much, you can rot in Havenwood for the rest of your life.” 3 Siren wails sliced through the schoolyard air. Two uniformed officers pushed through the crowd. “Who reported the incident?” Victor stepped forward, his face a mask of weary distress. “Officer, I did. This is my ex-wife. She suffers from severe schizophrenia and was recently released from Havenwood. She just assaulted my pregnant fiancée and almost harmed our child.” Sienna whimpered, leaning heavily on Victor. “My stomach hurts so much… She kept kicking me…” The other parents chimed in. “Yes, we saw it! She attacked like a rabid dog! Lock her up before she hurts our kids!” The officer turned to me. I struggled to my feet, my dislocated wrist throbbing with fresh agony. I pulled a crumpled, blood-stained paper from my pocket. “I am not sick. This is my discharge paper from Havenwood. I attacked her because she was abusing my daughter! Check the school’s security cameras!” The officer took the paper. Victor stepped close and whispered a few words. The officer’s expression shifted to one of deference. “Mr. Creston, we’ll handle this according to protocol.” He turned back to me, his tone icy. “We need to verify the authenticity of this document. Right now, you’re being detained for assault and disturbing the peace. Come with us.” He clicked a pair of handcuffs around my functional wrist. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I screamed, but the other officer shoved me toward the police cruiser. “Save it. Even crazy people have to face the law.” As the doors slammed shut, I looked through the tinted glass. Victor was kissing Sienna’s forehead, and Sienna peeked over his shoulder, flashing me a triumphant, mocking smile. Her lips formed the words: You lose. In the interrogation room, there were no windows, just a blinding overhead light. It triggered memories of the isolation rooms at Havenwood, and panic gripped me. “Name.” “Kathy Barrett.” “Why did you assault Sienna?” “I told you, she was abusing my daughter! Did you check the cameras?” The detective flipped a page. “We checked. It was a blind spot. Nothing was recorded. Meanwhile, the victim’s medical report shows a concussion and soft tissue damage. Mr. Creston’s lawyer is prepared to file charges of felony assault. If you don’t sign this settlement agreement and promise to stay away from them forever, they will prosecute. Given your psychiatric history, you’ll likely be committed to a high-security asylum indefinitely.” Indefinitely. The word crushed me. I looked at the photos of Sienna’s bruised face and laughed until tears ran down my cheeks. Of course. Victor was practically untouchable in Riverford now. Erasing a security tape was child’s play for him. I spent forty-eight hours in a holding cell. No food, only cold tap water. My untreated wrist swelled to twice its size. Just when I thought they were going to cart me off to a state asylum, the heavy steel door opened. A lawyer in an expensive suit walked in. “Ms. Barrett, Mr. Creston has decided to drop the charges. You’re free to go.” I was stunned. Victor, showing mercy? When I stepped outside the station, a black Rolls-Royce was idling at the curb. The window rolled down to reveal Victor smoking a cigar. “Get in.” I hesitated, wary. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking you back to the asylum,” he said, flicking the ash. “But if you don’t get in, I guarantee you will never see your father alive again.” My blood ran cold. “My father? You told me he died in the ICU four years ago!” “If you want the truth, get in.” I gritted my teeth and got in. The car smelled of Sienna’s perfume. We drove to a private hospital’s VIP wing. Victor led me to a sterile room. Through the glass, I saw a frail, skeletal man hooked up to a ventilator. My father. Once a prominent real estate mogul, now reduced to a living corpse. “He’s alive?” Tears spilled over. “You lied to me!” “If you knew he was alive, you wouldn’t have lost all hope and stayed quiet in Havenwood for four years,” Victor said coldly. “I’ve spent hundreds of thousands keeping him alive on experimental drugs. But the family company’s remaining shares are now in Sienna’s name. Except for the last five percent of original shares. Sign them over to me, or I pull his plug today.” 4 I gripped the pen so hard my knuckles turned white. “Victor, you stripped my father of everything he built. Must you steal his very last breath?” I grabbed his lapels, wanting to tear him apart. He merely adjusted his cuffs with supreme arrogance. “Kathy, remember who holds the cards here. Sienna’s baby is coming, and I need these shares to finalize the restructuring of the company as a gift to my new wife.” He grabbed my jaw, his grip agonizingly tight. “Sign, and the old man breathes a little longer. Refuse, and I stop his medication right now.” The heart monitor’s steady beeps sounded like a countdown. Looking at my dying father, I sobbed. For four years, he had kept me in the dark, and now he wanted me to humiliate myself for his mistress. “I’ll sign.” But as I reached for the paper, Victor pulled it away. “Not so fast. Sienna is hosting a yacht party tonight to celebrate the success of Madwoman and her birthday. She’s been having nightmares since you showed up. Look at yourself. Go there, kneel, and beg for her forgiveness. If she’s happy, I’ll take the shares. If not, no deal.” The humiliation was overwhelming. “You want me to kneel to her?” “Is the great Kathy Barrett too proud?” he mocked, reaching for his phone. “Then let’s see how long your father survives.” “Fine! I’ll do it!” Two hours later, dressed in a cheap, revealing slip dress provided by Victor’s men, I was forced onto the deck of The Empress, a luxury yacht anchored in international waters. The thumping bass and bright lights of the party hit me instantly. The city’s elite were all there. On the massive screens, scenes from Madwoman played on a loop. It was me, screaming, strapped to an asylum bed, being electrocuted until I soiled myself. My real, living nightmare, turned into public entertainment. “Look who’s here!” someone jeered. Every eye turned to me. Sienna, wearing a white haute couture gown and my anniversary necklace, stepped forward on Victor’s arm. “Kathy, you made it! I bought that dress from a thrift store for ten dollars. It fits you perfectly!” Laughter erupted around us. “Is that the crazy ex-wife? She looks pathetic.” Victor stared at me coldly. “Well? Kneel and apologize to Sienna.” I clenched my fists and walked toward her. As I began to bend my knees, Sienna took a step back. She was holding a pink stuffed rabbit, Lucy’s favorite comfort toy. “Oops, my hand slipped,” Sienna squealed as the toy plummeted into the dark, freezing ocean. “Oh dear, Lucy can’t sleep without that. You love her so much, Kathy. Go get it. Do that, and Victor will pay for your father’s medical bills.” The November sea was freezing. Jumping in was suicide. “Sienna, don’t push me!” I snarled. Victor stepped between us. “Take it or leave it, Kathy.” The crowd chanted, “Jump! Jump!” I looked at the black water, then thought of my father and my daughter. I had no choice. I climbed over the railing. “Remember what you look like right now, Kathy. Like a dog begging for a bone,” Victor sneered. Splash! I plunged into the icy water. The cold stole my breath instantly. I swam frantically until my fingers snagged the soggy toy. But as I swam back and reached for the yacht’s ladder, a high heel slammed down onto my fingers. Sienna looked down at me, her face twisted in malice. “Die, you crazy bitch. Once you’re gone, everything is mine.” She kicked my hand. I lost my grip and slipped back into the dark depths. Cold water filled my lungs, and my consciousness began to fade. Just as darkness claimed me, a deafening roar shook the air. Searchlights illuminated the sea like daylight. A black military helicopter hovered overhead, and heavy speedboats surrounded the yacht. A tall, imposing figure descended from the chopper, his black trench coat whipping in the wind. Without a second thought, he dove into the freezing water. A powerful arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back to the surface.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513568”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Michael’s girlfriend was chronically online. She loved testing out every new TikTok trend she scrolled past, and tonight was no exception. “Michael, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you visit me in the hospital the day I was born? Do you even love me at all?” Michael let out a helpless laugh, entirely used to her antics. He played along with the joke, but then his eyes caught his famously stoic, buttoned-up uncle sitting nearby. A mischievous glint crossed Michael’s face. “Uncle Declan, what about you? How would you answer that?” The man, who rarely cracked a smile, swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I did visit.” He took a slow sip. “Not only did I visit, but I held her when she was just a baby.” As the words left his mouth, his dark, heavy gaze drifted across the room, landing squarely on me. 1 Michael Prescott and I grew up together. For the first twenty years of my life, we were inseparable. It wasn’t just me who thought we were endgame. Our parents, our entire social circle, everyone practically had our wedding invitations drafted in their heads. We were the quintessential high-society match, perfectly suited in background and temperament. When I turned eighteen, my parents officially brought up the idea of a merger between the Astor and Prescott families through marriage. They asked how I felt about it. Honestly, I adored Michael. If our families joined, it would be a beautiful story. But we were still young, so the engagement talks were gently shelved, and we headed off to the same Ivy League university instead. For the next two years, we lingered in that agonizingly sweet gray area. More than friends, not quite lovers. Everyone around us treated it as an inevitability. Swept up in the expectations, I let myself fall a little deeper for him with every passing day. Then came the winter of our sophomore year. Michael found me, his eyes bright with an excitement I had never seen before. “Sharon, I met someone. I think I’m really falling for her!” It wasn’t me. Seeing him so ecstatic was a brutal wake-up call. The last two decades of our lives had never sparked real romantic love in him. The lingering hugs, the intertwined hands, to Michael, they were just the perks of having a best friend. You cannot force a heart to feel something it doesn’t. And I refused to humiliate myself by begging. So, I gathered up my feelings and locked them away. To the absolute shock of our social circle, Michael started dating a girl from a very ordinary, middle-class suburb. She was undeniably pretty, with a spoiled, slightly demanding streak that proved she was her parents’ pampered princess. He paraded her around, introducing her to every single person in our elite bubble. My presence suddenly became a very awkward elephant in the room. Our mutual friends didn’t buy it. They placed bets on when the novelty would wear off, convinced that once Michael got bored of playing tourist in a normal life, he would realize I was the one he belonged with. “Don’t stress it, Sharon,” a friend whispered to me over martinis. “He’s just fascinated by the naive, girl-next-door routine. Give it a few months. He’ll get sick of it.” He didn’t. Michael stayed with her for two solid years. He flashed his new relationship all over town, making sure everyone knew, including my parents and his. My father was furious enough to march over to the Prescott estate and give them a piece of his mind. My mother had to physically block the door. “If they don’t want the match, we walk away gracefully. Why make a scene? Do you honestly think our daughter is going to lack suitors?” “That is not the point!” my father thundered. When the families had first discussed the marriage, Michael wasn’t a child. He knew about it. He had, at the very least, offered silent consent. Even if we hadn’t made it official, we were a hair’s breadth away from an engagement. It was only because my mother thought we were too young that she gave us time to date properly. By flaunting this new girl, he wasn’t just breaking my heart. He was publicly slapping the Astor family in the face. Still, on the surface, Michael and I remained friends. Our families had hundreds of millions tied up in joint ventures. We had to keep up appearances. But friends were all we would ever be. Which brings us to tonight. Michael booked a massive VIP lounge at an exclusive club downtown for his birthday, inviting half the city’s young elite. I was on the guest list. And naturally, so was his girlfriend, Sophie. 2 Once Michael started dating, my texts to him slowed to a trickle. But we had a messy digital footprint. Before Sophie came into the picture, our Instagram comments and late-night chat histories blurred the lines of platonic friendship. Once they were official, Sophie demanded total access to his phone. They fought about it a few times. I only found out when Michael pulled me aside to apologize, sheepishly admitting Sophie had blocked and deleted my number from his contacts. Since I hadn’t reached out to him in weeks anyway, I hadn’t even noticed. Sophie was desperately trying to claw her way into Michael’s inner circle. Old money circles are notoriously cliquey, and someone had definitely whispered in her ear about my history with her boyfriend. I understood her insecurity. So, I took a step back and gave them space. Tonight, I had planned to drop off his birthday gift and ghost. But as I walked through the heavy velvet curtains of the lounge, my eyes snagged on a figure sitting in the corner. I froze. Just then, my phone lit up with a text. After reading it, I quietly found a seat at the edge of the room. “Sharon, you made it!” Michael looked genuinely thrilled. “I heard you’ve been shadowing your dad at the firm. I figured you’d be too busy closing deals.” I smiled smoothly, handing over the sleek wrapped box. “Happy birthday, Michael.” “Sharon!” Sophie’s sugary voice chimed in. “It feels like forever. Are you trying a new mature look? It’s giving… pushing thirty.” Sophie was draped in a custom pink couture gown that cost more than a sports car, her hair curled into playful, bouncy waves. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what she was saying. I looked down at my impeccably tailored, razor-sharp designer suit and let out a soft laugh. “Is it? Good. I am aiming for ruthless corporate executive, after all.” Michael immediately jumped in to keep the peace. “Sharon, you know Sophie. She’s just playing around. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t take it to heart. I didn’t let just anyone into my heart anymore. I sat a fair distance from the main action, but the acoustics in the room were crisp. That was when Sophie pulled out the viral internet joke. “Michael, you’re a year older than me. Why didn’t you visit me in the hospital…” The crowd erupted in affectionate laughter. The guys ribbed him. “Yeah, Michael! Why weren’t you rolling up with a baby bottle for your girl?” It was harmless teasing. Sophie was beautiful in an innocent, doe-eyed way, and over the past two years, she had managed to charm a few of the guys in our group. Michael grinned, tossing his arm over the back of the sofa. “I was probably throwing a tantrum and getting grounded by my mom for spitting out my apple juice.” The room dissolved into more laughter. Michael turned his head, spotting his notoriously strict uncle who had surprisingly shown up to the party. Wanting to test the ice, he threw the question his way. “Uncle Declan, what about you? How would you answer that?” Declan Prescott was five years older than Michael and me. He was the unexpected miracle child of the Prescott grandparents, born late in their lives. From the day he drew breath, he was the golden standard. Despite the small age gap, the generational hierarchy was absolute. Factor in Declan’s Ivy League degrees, his ruthless ascension in the corporate world, and his devastatingly cold charisma, and every trust fund kid in our circle was secretly terrified of him. Growing up, I called him Uncle Declan too. Michael was probably hoping to get a dry, pragmatic business answer out of the man. One of Michael’s friends chuckled nervously. “Come on, man, don’t drag Declan into this. The guy runs an empire. When does he have time for romance?” Then, Declan spoke. “I did visit.” The room went dead silent. “Huh?” The man who treated boardrooms like war zones added softly, “Not only did I visit, but I held her when she was just a baby.” No one noticed his eyes. They were locked dead onto me, dark and consuming. “…” The tension broke as the room burst into roaring laughter. “Holy shit, Declan! I didn’t know you had a sense of humor!” No one took him seriously. Except me. Declan didn’t look away. Even though I actively avoided meeting his gaze, the sheer weight of his stare felt reckless and entirely too loud. When the party started winding down, I slipped out and found my car in the underground valet garage. I opened the door and froze. Someone was already in the backseat. My driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, clearly unsure of what to do. From the shadows of the backseat, Declan’s low, gravelly chuckle filled the space. “Mind giving me a lift? I didn’t bring my driver tonight.” I slid in, and the heavy door thudded shut. The man beside me leaned his head back against the leather and murmured, “I seem to have forgotten my address. Miss Astor, care to let me crash at your place?” 3 Declan feigned being completely wasted, letting his head rest heavily against my shoulder. His breath, warm and laced with expensive bourbon, ghosted over the sensitive skin of my neck. It was impossible to ignore. I stared out the tinted window at the blurred city lights, my mind drifting back to two years ago, the night Michael made it Instagram official. I would be lying if I said it didn’t shatter me. Less than a month after telling me he liked someone else, Michael blasted her picture to the world. I was still sitting in my bedroom, trying to figure out how to untangle our families’ massive expectations without causing a corporate war. Worse, Michael paraded her through our friend group immediately. Maybe he just wanted to show her off, but there were plenty of girls in our circle who hated my guts. The petty, thinly veiled insults came pouring in. If I acted like I cared, I was pathetic. If I acted completely unfazed, I was bitter and in denial. That was exactly when Declan returned from London. He had been overseeing a massive real estate acquisition in the UK, a project that wasn’t even finished yet. I was in a place where I didn’t want to look at anyone with the last name Prescott. But Declan bypassed all the social red tape and walked straight into my life. It was winter break. Declan found me and asked, completely out of the blue, if I wanted to go to London with him to clear my head. I stared at him, utterly lost. For most of my childhood, Michael and I were intimidated by him. He was only five years older, but Declan didn’t play in the dirt with us. The genetic lottery had favored him in cruel, unfair ways. He was brilliant to the point of intimidation. As we grew older, he morphed into this untouchable figure, possessing a quiet, lethal authority and striking, sharp-edged good looks. Women practically threw themselves at his feet. I had barely held a real conversation with him. Any interaction we had was strictly by proxy because I was glued to Michael. So, an invitation to London made zero sense. Declan stood in the snow, hands in his cashmere coat pockets. “Do you still love Michael?” I swallowed hard, the silence stretching out between us. “It’s fine if you do. He’s just a man,” Declan said smoothly. “He won’t be the only one you meet in this life.” I couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort me or mock me. “Michael likes someone else. Would you consider liking someone else?” Declan looked at me, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Consider me?” Absolute shock bulldozed right over my heartbreak. The tears that had been swimming in my eyes finally spilled over, but my expression was one of pure, speechless horror. Declan pulled a pristine linen handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed the tear from my cheek. “Don’t waste tears on people who aren’t worth it,” he murmured. He paused, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Though, I suppose you can look at it as detoxing.” “…” I had zero clue Declan Prescott possessed a sense of humor. He dropped his hand. “If your original reason for choosing Michael was to secure the corporate merger between our families, my portfolio is vastly superior to his.” Vastly was the understatement of the century. Declan was the undisputed heir to the Prescott empire. Michael lacked the ambition and the sheer, ruthless intellect his uncle possessed. “If you purely loved Michael for who he is, well, he forfeited his right to your heart when he chose someone else. Stepping in now hardly makes me the villain.” 4 I didn’t go to London because of his romantic pitch. I went because he asked, “Are you planning to take over your family’s firm after graduation? I have negotiations in London. Want to sit in and watch?” Declan’s reputation in the business world was legendary. Like anyone with half a brain, I idolized his work ethic. It was basic ambition. I wanted to see a master at work. So, even knowing he had essentially offered himself up as my new fiancé, I boarded his private jet. For two weeks in London, he kept me by his side. There was absolutely nothing inappropriate between us. He treated me like a protege, guiding me through the brutal realities of corporate takeovers. I watched him dismantle CEOs with a calm, terrifying grace. If we took emotions out of the equation, choosing Declan was a thousand times better than choosing Michael. The ROI was astronomical. “But, Declan, Michael is your nephew.” It was my last night in London. We were sitting in a dimly lit, velvet-lined speakeasy tucked inside our hotel. Soft jazz drifted through the air, the yellow ambient light wrapping around us in a warm, intimate haze. Declan didn’t even blink. Those deep, unreadable eyes held mine over the rim of his scotch glass. “Yes. He played a foolish game. Marry me, become his aunt, and you can boss him around at family dinners for the rest of his life.” “…” Become Michael’s aunt? I had to admit, the level of petty revenge in that statement was deeply appealing. But I had my own life to map out. Michael broke my heart, but I refused to let him dictate my future. “I have one more question.” “You can ask as many as you want,” Declan replied. “And you don’t have to keep a formal distance. Just use my name.” Since I was a toddler, I had lumped him in with the adults. Michael called him uncle, so I did too. But now, as the energy between us shifted into something dark and charged, using his first name felt dangerously taboo. “What exactly…” I hesitated, searching for the words. “How do you view me?” “Are you asking if this is a business acquisition for me, or something else?” he countered. Before I could stutter out a response, he leaned forward. “Sharon, five years is nothing. Besides Michael, you and I grew up together too, didn’t we?” I froze. “When you started kindergarten, you were always running over to our estate. The adults were busy. You and Michael followed me around like ducklings. Do you remember?” His voice was a low rumble. The memories flashed in my mind. Kids always want to play with the older kids. We used to shadow him everywhere. But as he grew up, he was swallowed by boarding schools, university, and eventually the boardroom. The gap widened until he was a god and we were just kids. “When you two graduated high school, my brother and sister-in-law were thrilled. They wanted to lock down the engagement. You two were practically joined at the hip,” Declan said, his tone sharpening. “But Sharon, he walked away. Even if I am technically his elder, pursuing a brilliant, single woman is hardly a crime.” Declan brought me back to the States. For the entire half-month in London, he never crossed a line. That Christmas, Michael and his parents were too embarrassed to attend our family’s holiday gala because of the girlfriend drama. The Prescott family sent Declan in their place. The house was packed with guests. No one noticed when Declan slipped into my bedroom, closed the door behind him, and asked, “Sharon, have you made your decision?” 5 “Declan, did you really come to the hospital the day I was born?” I asked suddenly, pulled back to the present moment in my apartment. His face was buried in the curve of my neck, pressing soft, biting kisses against my skin. He let out a raspy laugh, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “Did you think I was joking in front of that crowd?” “Michael was barely two months old. My brother was swamped at the firm, and his wife was recovering. My parents dragged me to the maternity ward to see you,” he murmured against my collarbone. “Though, I was the only one who actually wanted to see you. My parents were just there for the PR.” “As for whether I held you, surely you remember how you used to act?” “…” When Michael and I were at our clingiest phase, I was constantly demanding Declan pick me up and carry me. Relationships mutate with time. At five, I clung to him. At fifteen, I kept a respectful distance. At twenty, I treated him as an elder. And now, hidden away in the dead of night, we were tearing each other’s clothes off. That Christmas in my bedroom, I didn’t give him a verbal yes. But I didn’t push him away either. He took the opening and executed a flawless, relentless pursuit right under everyone’s noses. The moment Michael fell for someone else, his ghost began to fade from my heart. I wasn’t the type of woman to pine over a man who belonged to another girl. And Declan was impossible to resist. He knew exactly when to push and when to give me space. The void in my chest was meticulously filled by someone else. The summer before last, Declan and I made it official. It was about six months into Michael’s new relationship. He planned a group getaway to the Hamptons and actually sent me an invite. I turned it down flat. That sparked a massive rumor mill. Sophie and the rest of our friends whispered that I was too brokenhearted to watch them be in love. The reality? I had zero desire to ditch my brand-new, spectacular boyfriend to play third wheel to my ex-crush. We kept our relationship completely underground. Like any normal couple, we navigated the exhilarating slide from holding hands to breathless kisses, to tangled sheets and late nights. Before tonight, we hadn’t seen each other in over two weeks due to his business trip. I straddled his lap, pulling him into a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of the longing I’d felt into it. Declan’s hands were anything but polite, lighting fires wherever they traced, dragging me down into the intoxicating haze of him. The night was thick and heavy. A vase of fresh pink bellflowers sat on my glass coffee table. A sudden breeze drifted through a cracked window, and the delicate petals trembled, over and over again, in the dark. 6 With graduation looming, my life became a blur of corporate strategy. My father was eager to hand over the reins. He had thrown me into the deep end of the family business the previous year. Between defending my thesis and closing deals, I barely had time to breathe. After a wild, reckless night, my internal alarm woke me at dawn. I opened my eyes, tried to slip out of bed, and was instantly yanked back by a heavy arm wrapping around my waist. “Why are you up so early?” Declan’s voice was thick with sleep and rough like sandpaper. “Come back to sleep.” “I have to go to the office, Mr. Prescott,” I coaxed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m spearheading a massive acquisition this week. Behave.” Declan chuckled into the pillows. “Want me to review the contracts for you?” “Absolutely not. Corporate espionage. I don’t care if you’re my boyfriend.” I rejected him with practiced authority. Since we started dating, Declan had secretly tutored me in high-level corporate warfare. But this was the first project my father had completely entrusted to me. I had to win it on my own. Declan propped himself up against the headboard, watching in silence as I showered, flipped on the vanity lights, and applied my makeup. I told him to go back to sleep, but ten minutes later, he was out of bed. By the time I stepped into the kitchen in my stilettos, Declan was plating breakfast. He was incredibly skilled with his hands. In every possible context. Even rushing on a weekday morning, the eggs benedict he set on the marble island looked like it belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant. Sometimes, I caught myself wondering why a man like Declan chose me. It wasn’t an inferiority complex. It was just statistics. He had the world at his fingertips. Heiresses and supermodels had practically thrown themselves at his feet for years. Declan caught me staring and didn’t miss a beat. “It’s the same reason you were entirely blind to everyone except Michael growing up. I only ever had eyes for you. Then. And now.” “…” He was still holding a petty grudge against his own nephew. The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and expensive, territorial jealousy. Falling in love with Declan had been the easiest thing in the world. Just like I always believed—love had to go both ways. I gave him a lingering kiss before grabbing my briefcase. “My schedule is clear for the next few days,” Declan murmured against my lips. “I’ll be staying here.” Technically, he had a guest room at my place. He used it once, last year, when I had a fever and he drove through a torrential downpour to take care of me. Slowly, his tailored suits started taking over my closet. His expensive watches ended up on my nightstand. And then one night, I just wanted him next to me. He hadn’t slept in the guest room since. I was slammed at work right now. Forget dinner dates—I was squeezing in university meetings between board calls. The only place we actually saw each other was in my bed. Thankfully, he didn’t complain. By the time I finalized the acquisition, June rolled around, and I officially graduated. My father had zero intention of starting me in the mailroom. I was the heir apparent. He needed me in the shark tank. When the Prescott Matriarch’s birthday gala arrived, I attended with my parents. Despite the awkward tension from two years ago, the Astor and Prescott empires were still deeply entangled. We all operated on the unspoken elite rule: smile, drink the champagne, and pretend the arranged marriage talks had never happened. The ballroom was packed. I followed my parents to the VIP tables to offer our rehearsed, elegant congratulations. When I smiled and said, “Happy Birthday, Grandma Prescott,” the words caught in my throat. I had called her that my entire life. But considering exactly what I did to her youngest son last night, the title felt distinctly blasphemous. Declan materialized out of the crowd. He was wearing a deep burgundy dress shirt. Uncharacteristically, he hadn’t worn a tie, and the top two buttons were undone. He had literally crawled out of my bed that morning. Underneath the expensive silk, his skin was marked with evidence of our night together. Just like mine was. The moment our eyes met, a faint, devastating smirk touched his lips. There was nothing more lethal than a notoriously rigid, cold man showing a sliver of unadulterated sin. 7 In public, we played the role of distant family acquaintances flawlessly. I looked right at him and nodded. “Uncle Declan.” Behind closed doors, I hadn’t called him that in ages. Except, occasionally, when my back was arched against the headboard and he demanded it. Saying it here, in the middle of a glittering ballroom, felt like a filthy inside joke. He offered a curt, utterly professional nod, his face an ice-cold mask. “Sharon.” Fake. The gala was lavish, but knowing the Prescott family as well as I did, it took me exactly three seconds to read the room. The tension at their main table was thick enough to cut with a knife. I pulled out my phone under the table and texted Declan. What’s the drama? He texted back immediately. Michael tried to bring his girl. Got ripped to shreds. The translation: Michael wanted to officially introduce Sophie to the family. His parents already despised her, and realizing he was serious about marrying her sent them into a tailspin. So, Sophie was banned from the gala. Michael’s parents looked at me with open regret. They offered polite, socially perfect small talk, and I parried it with equal grace. Declan hovered nearby, pretending to casually listen. “Declan, you aren’t getting any younger,” the Matriarch suddenly announced, turning her attention to her youngest son. “With all these brilliant girls in the city, has no one caught your eye?” It was a loaded statement. Half the debutantes in the room had been vetted by her as potential daughters-in-law. Declan, who usually shut down these conversations with brutal efficiency, actually smiled. “Mom, I have a girlfriend.” “Are you serious?” Michael, walking by with a glass of champagne, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes lit up with gossip. “Uncle Declan, I have an aunt? Who is she? Do I know her?” “…” I shot Declan a covert, withering glare. Ignoring his parents, his older brother, and his sister-in-law, Declan stared directly at his nephew. “Focus on fixing your own mess first.” Michael shut his mouth. “Well, if you’re serious about her, bring the girl around,” Declan’s older brother—Michael’s dad—chimed in. Michael looked ready to scream. His dad had just banished his girlfriend from the premises but was practically rolling out the red carpet for Declan’s mystery woman. “She’s here tonight,” Declan said smoothly. The entire Prescott family gasped. Heads immediately swiveled, eyes darting across the ballroom, aggressively scanning the crowd for suspects. My heart slammed against my ribs. I had no idea what game he was playing. “Declan, which one is she?” his sister-in-law pressed. Given the exclusive guest list, whoever Declan was dating had to be a high-society heiress. The family’s tone instantly shifted to pure excitement. “She’s young. We aren’t in a rush to marry. Let’s give it a couple of years,” Declan deflected smoothly. “…” “Uncle Declan, don’t tell me you’re dating someone younger than me?” Michael joked. Declan went completely silent. ? “Wait, actually younger than me?” Michael looked horrified. Declan’s father finally cleared his throat, looking deeply concerned. “Declan, this girl… she is of legal age, correct?” “Obviously,” Declan shot his father a look of pure disgust. “What kind of monster do you think I am?” Within an hour, the rumor that Declan Prescott had a secret girlfriend tore through the ballroom. Thanks to Michael’s loud mouth, everyone had the clues: She’s in the room, and she’s younger than Michael. The gossip mill went into overdrive. Not a single person guessed it was me. 8 Michael even cornered me by the champagne tower to spill the tea. “Sharon, have you noticed my uncle talking to any girls tonight?” I stared at him blankly, then shook my head. “I hardly know your uncle.” “Fair point,” Michael accepted the lie instantly. “You see him like, twice a year. Makes sense you wouldn’t know.” He swirled his drink, looking miserable. “I’m booking a trip to Europe for the summer to get away from my parents. I’m taking Sophie. Do you want to come? I feel like we haven’t gone on a trip together since high school.” I looked at him like he had lost his mind, fighting to keep my polite smile in place. “No thanks. Work is swamped.” “Are you sure? Sophie specifically asked me to invite you.” “?” Both of you are actually insane. “Pass,” I said coldly. I didn’t have time to be a pawn in whatever insecure power play his girlfriend was running. When I got home that night, Declan was already there. He was standing on my balcony, the warm summer night air rustling his burgundy shirt. He held a crystal tumbler of scotch, watching me walk into the living room. It was a ridiculously cinematic sight. “What’s this?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the glass door, amused. “I left the gala after you. How did you beat me here?” Declan didn’t miss a beat. “I paid my driver double to run the red lights.” He closed the distance between us, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of oakwood and expensive alcohol. “You were staring at me all night. Do you like me in red?” So he had noticed. “Is it a crime to look?” He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “I wore it specifically for you to look.” I leaned in and took a sip of the scotch right from his glass. “You’re raiding my liquor cabinet again.” Declan threw back the rest of the amber liquid, setting the glass on a side table. “Come by my penthouse tomorrow. Pick out whatever bottles you want. Take the whole cellar.” The city breeze tangled with the taste of alcohol as he pulled me in. The kiss was slow, deep, and intoxicating. Beneath the burgundy silk, the scratches I left on his back the night before were still fresh. He backed me against the wall, murmuring against my jaw, “What were you and Michael whispering about for so long?” “Why are you so obsessed with him?” I huffed, annoyed. “Are you trying to pick a fight?” In the two years we’d been together, we argued like any normal couple. But Declan was the kind of man who refused to sleep in a different bed, even when he was furious. The fights never lasted until morning. “My brother and sister-in-law are still mourning the fact that you aren’t their daughter-in-law,” he growled playfully. “Am I not allowed to be a little territorial?” “Go pick a fight with them, then.” I pushed lightly at his chest. Instead of letting go, Declan hooked his hands under my thighs and lifted me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, my vision blurring for a second as the world spun. “I’m not fighting them. They lost their chance at a daughter-in-law,” he kissed the corner of my mouth, his eyes glinting. “But a sister-in-law is still on the table.” I bit down lightly on his lower lip. “I never agreed to marry you.” Declan wasn’t phased. He lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, doing exactly what he did best until I was entirely at his mercy. Then, he looked up, his eyes dark and voice hoarse. “Then what am I supposed to do, Sharon? I’m hitting thirty soon. No one else will have me. Are you going to abandon your Uncle Declan?” Hearing him call himself Uncle Declan in that tone was like a cursed spell. It was a poisoned apple, dripping with pure, unadulterated sin. The man was a menace.

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